


The Lowest Ebb

by B_Radley



Series: Gandalf's Way [16]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hope, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, Love, Multi, Post-Episode: s02e19-20 Twilight of the Apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8782891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: A stranger helps a family heal from a shared loss.Loss and GainWhen I compareWhat I have lost with what I have gained,What I have missed with what attained,Little room do I find for pride.I am awareHow many days have been idly spent;How like an arrow the good intentHas fallen short or been turned aside.But who shall dareTo measure loss and gain in this wise?Defeat may be victory in disguise;The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow





	1. Hera

**Chopper Base**  
**Year 32**  
**(3 BBY) ******One month missing.** **

A warrior-artist watches as two battered cruisers rumble into the atmosphere on approach. She sighs.

She removes her _buy'ce_. Her dark eyes are looking towards the horizon at the ships. But her mind is seeing another, smaller vessel returning.

Returning with one less than it had left with. She remembers looking at the pained expression on the man standing next to her. Of meeting Zeb's eyes as they saw what agony looked like for a brief instant, before the man's eyes close at the ground. She can see his lips moving silently as he says the words. Words of their shared and his adopted heritage.

She joins him. She sees Zeb's fierce eyes soften.

At the end of the litany, two words were spoken by both. Two words that signified the loss of a huntress, warrior, comrade, mentor, and for one - a _Vod'ika_ and Commander. _A_ _little_ _sister_.

Ahsoka Tano.

Sabine Wren allows her gaze to return to the ships on approach. For at least one man on the battered old _Consular_ , she was something more.

She shakes her head as she considers her _ba'vodu_ \- her uncle. A man who had loved and married her aunt and lost her to violence.

A man known as the Storm-King among her people for his fighting style in those Mando melees of multiple opponents against him. A man born of gamblers and warriors, but raised as a hunter by the Master of another of his lives.

A hunter much like the woman who now probably lies on a misbegotten world.

She turns back to her work and dons her bucket. For once, she is very glad that Ezra is on another mission. Off of this world.

XXXXX

Hera Syndulla walks up and gazes at the landed corvettes. She watches the flurry of activity as the hatches open. A respectable number of armored figures exit from the _Consular_.

Another small group exits. Her eyebrows raise as she sees two of the figures remove their helmets. Two young women of about Ezra's age stand there, as a group of larger males and females in mixed armor stand respectfully around them.

One in particular draws her. On closer look, she appears to be slightly older than Sabine and Ezra. Hera is drawn in particular to her face. A small jewel sits on her forehead, over her amber eyes. Amber eyes that belie her calm, serene face. Amber eyes with a a tiny hint of snark and laughter. Her dark hair is cut short, much like Sabine's but in a rich chestnut color. The short style brings out certain highlights of her face that would be subtle if they weren't so familiar. Like hints of someone else Hera knows.

The young woman smiles at something the other says. Hera brings her attention to the other. A young woman with very wise gray eyes. Eyes that survey the base as she speaks to her companion. The eyes grow warm and match a smile on her lips as she sees the Twi'lek. Hera can see a gold symbol on a chain around her neck. Hera nods and inclines her head.

To the Elector-Presumptive of Corellia. An Elector in exile.

Hera's attention is drawn to the figure that stands behind them. A figure in in green armor with purple and gold highlights. He wears no helmet. Her eyes widen as she sees the battered brown nerf-leather jacket that covers his armor.

A garment that she had helped pack in a box a few weeks before, along with other items. Her eyes track up to the man's face. A face that bears a strong resemblance to the Elector, but whose warm gaze is marked by a pair of green eyes. The man appears to be about forty or so with regular features marked by light scarring on his forehead.

The light wind ruffles his gray hair as he looks out over the landscape of Atollon. His eyes are distant. Hera's own eyes soften. The eyes are distant, but she senses that at other times they are filled with humor and warmth.

He turns to the young woman; the Elector. A crooked, warm smile flows over his features as he listens to her. He inclines his head in a bow of respect to her. She playfully slaps him on the chest and uses her other hand to lift his chin.

He turns to Hera and she is struck by the full force of that warmth as his eyes and mouth smile at her.

Warmth mixed with pain as he takes a deep breath and walks towards her.

Suddenly she realizes that this was the man who could make a serene huntress' blue eyes light with warmth whenever she saw his code name or alias in a report.

She straightens and brings her hand to the brow of her flight cap. He returns her salute, but extends his hand. She looks again into his eyes. She moves closer to him and does something she would've never dreamed of doing with a superior officer.

She takes him in her arms and brings her face to his chest. He holds her tightly to him.

Hera pulls herself away from him and looks up at him. She shakes her head at the sight she must be making. "I'm sorry, General."

She gets the full force of the crooked smile. "Not really a General, Captain. At best a jumped-up naval Captain." His eyes darken. "Haven't been called a General in nearly two decades."

"Ever since I left Corellia and pretty much made my home in space, I haven't had the need to use an alias or anything except for any Imperial types. My name is Jame Blackthorn. If you feel the need, you can call me King." He shakes his head and smiles ruefully. "Not as pompous as it seems. Some of my relatives - relatives who your artist may be familiar with called me the Storm-King at one time."

She smiles. "Sabine has told me something of you. How many of the stories are true?"

"Almost none," he says with a smirk.

She looks down. An almost painfully familiar expression. She glances up and sees the young women walk up, along with another

Unaccountably _,_ she starts to feel a warm sensation through her body _. What the hell is wrong with you? Yeah, he's handsome but...._

She sees the grin on his face. "Not me, Captain. He turns and looks at one of the newcomers. A beautiful red-skinned woman of about King's age stands next to the young Elector.

 _Oh_. _Zeltron_. Her eyes widen as she sees the young Elector hug the woman to her. A certain word passes the young woman's lips. A word that she has heard Sabine use, but not directly referring to anyone.

 _Buir_.

Blackthorn smiles. He looks at Hera. "Captain Syndulla, please allow me to introduce some of my folks to you." The Zeltron walks up and extends her hand. "I'm Dani Faygan, professional babysitter," she says with a bright smile.

Hera tries to keep her breathing under control as the warm hand touches hers. She notices the grin that Blackthorn has at her expression.

An eyeroll can be felt from each of the others. Blackthorn shakes his head. "Commander Faygan is actually the Captain of this little bucket here. She just lets me ride on her ship."

"Among other things," she says with a hooded look.

Both of the younger women blush. " _Buir_!" says the gray-eyed Elector. Hera's eyes widen as the blush brings her face into sharp focus.

A face that also looks at Hera with a warm green gaze. A face whose owner stands next to the young woman, looking at her with proud amusement.

The young woman turns to Hera and extends her hand. "I'm Jamelyn, Captain Syndulla," she says. "Unlike everybody else, I don't have a rank or status. I just do whatever needs doing."

Dani Faygan smiles at the girl fondly. "She is suffering from appalling false modesty, Captain. Besides being the hope of the Five Brothers of Corellia, my daughter and dear Talle, next to her, lead our little band of fighter pilots. They are both excellent pilots."

Hera raises her eyebrows again at that. The other young woman saves her by offering her own hand. "I'm Talle. Lieutenant Tredecima. I'm the comic relief," she says with straight face.

A Smirk crosses Jamelyn's features. "That means that with all the other people in this band of miscreants who think that they are funnier than they actually are, Talle is the most serious person here." She looks at the other young woman fondly.

Blackthorn looks at Hera. His expression grows serious. "There are a couple of others, Captain. You have met Commander Rhayme of the _Opportunity_ a few months back. Major Tredecima is the leader of our little band of heartbreakers. They are not currently with us, but on a separate mission." Hera's eyebrows get a workout again at the similarity of names.

His eyes lighten. "We also have more than our fair share of Mando hardasses. They're backing up our commandos on that little side job."

Hera doesn't even bother to ask.

An unspoken look passes between he and the Zeltron. Faygan nods and reaches over and brings his forehead to his. Hera is overwhelmed by the look of care and love that she gives Blackthorn. They break away; and Dani motions to the young women. Before they leave, both young women seize him in a deep hug. "I love you, Uncle," says Jamelyn. "We will be on the ship if you need us." She hugs him to her fiercely and is gone. All three women give Hera a look that promises retribution for any slight to him.

Hera's own eyes are glistening at the love shown; the protectiveness. She looks at him. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. "Tell me of Ahsoka, Captain Syndulla. I want to know how she was lost."

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Rex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brother speaks the truth, amid anger and sorrow.

Rex stands and cracks his back. The effort of shifting crates of turbolaser shells had taken a toll on his near sixty-year-old equivalent bones and muscles.

He sighs. The pain takes certain pictures out of his mind. Pictures of a young huntress choking her life out on a forgotten world as she watches her escape climb out of the atmosphere. Of those brilliant, powerful, wise blue eyes losing their light at the hands of the mystical energy field that she was tied to. A darker version of an old mystical and biological ally. Or of those azure eyes open and staring at the lightsaber wound that has pierced her middle, burning her...

He shakes his head and curses in Mando'a. _Morbid, much, old man?_ He smiles as he hears that bright voice in his head. He thinks of a comforting weight of a small body lying against his back on battlefields the galaxy over. Talking over everything from her fears to the battle that day to her latest prank against their General to ease his mind.

Both he and the General's minds.

He thinks of feeling that breathing grow easier and regular as she falls asleep against him. Of his own rest as he realizes that she had survived another battle; another test.

Another day that he got to have her in his admittedly small world.

He thinks of the day just a short time ago when she had leaped into his arms and squeezed until his joints ached.

Not much different than the attack hug on the day that Mandalore burned around them and they had to go their separate ways.

It is at this moment; the only time he has; that he curses Wolffe and his fears. Fears that deprived him of so much time with his Commander.

His best friend.

He thinks of another young Jedi-in-training. A young man with so much promise. As a Jedi and as a soldier.

A young man that he has been avoiding since he had returned from Malachor. Afraid of his own reaction.

The 'Captain' part of him knows that mistakes happen in war. That young soldiers make mistakes that can cost, oh, so much. His own young Commander had made her fair share.

The part of him that was the friend of that young woman wants to take Ezra for a very long sparring session. Without gloves.

His vision is caught by a familiar face. A face from both he and his Commander's pasts. The last time he had seen this face, it was in pain.

Pain from the original supposed loss of his Commander. The man's hunt-sister as he called her. Pain from the death of his wife.

He sees the pain anew on the man's face as he follows Hera into one of the base's prefab buildings.

Rex sighs as he picks up his gunbelt and nods to the crew. He walks purposefully to the same building.

XXXXX

Blackthorn follows Hera into the crew lounge of the base. Her sharp look sends the few base personnel actually lounging scurrying to find something to do. He smiles at that look.

They sit at a small isolated table. A young woman in Mando armor walks up. Blackthorn rises and immediately embraces her. He holds her at arm's length. "Force, Sabine! I haven't seen you since I rocked you to sleep. You've grown into a......"

He looks down. "I was going to say a beautiful woman. But that is expected of Wren women. I should say a beautiful and fierce warrior."

"Thank you _ba'vodu_." She smiles. "You're just as charming as I've heard. Must be the Corellian in you."

He smiles wistfully, remembering one with similar features. Similar armor.

The young woman takes his hands in hers. She looks up at him. "I am so sorry about Ahsoka, Uncle. I only knew her a brief time, but she taught me so much."

He nods. "She taught me a lot, too," he says quietly. "I can assume, based on my knowledge of Wren artistic talents, that you drew the art of her?"

Sabine nods. "I hope I captured her right for you."

He looks her in the eye. "They were perfect. Thank you." He smirks. "So how much alcohol did you have to give her to get her to pose?"

"Not much. Just charm," she smirks.

He grins at the young woman. "Charm and the fact that Togruta have almost no modesty taboos," he says.

Sabine looks incredulous. "She swore that no one was to see the art."

He laughs out loud for several minutes. "My dear, you have fallen for the oldest trick in her book. I don't think that she was the one being charmed."

Sabine blushes and stammers. Hera lets her off of the hook. "Sabine, your uncle and I have some things to talk about. I'm sure he will see you soon." Sabine nods and embraces him again. "Anything you need, _ba'vodu_. For _aliit_."

For clan.

When she is gone, Hera takes a deep breath. She begins to tell the story. The story of how the hole came to be in his heart.

Blackthorn is silent when she finishes. "I wasn't there, King. You need to talk to Kanan. He can tell you what you need to know. He or Ezra. Everything I know, I got from Kanan and Chopper's logs."

"She saved my crew, Jame," Hera says, her voice thick with emotion. "She sacrificed herself for them."

Blackthorn gives her a hard look. "I am not sure that your crew was worth it, Captain."

Hera's eyes flash dangerously. "Now wait a minute. I know that you're hurting over Ahsoka's death. But you have no goddamned right to come in here and say that about my crew."

"I think that I have more right than most to say it. If the boy had followed instructions; had not gone off half-cocked with Maul, we wouldn't be having this conversation." His voice is quiet, but Hera can feel the edge to his words.

"Ezra is just a boy...."

"Come on, Hera. He is a supposedly a Jedi Padawan. Yes, they make mistakes. But he made a conscious decision to disobey his master and Ahsoka. The end result is that he didn't pay the price. Someone else did."

He looks down. "Someone who was my life."

"You aren't the only one who lost something, General Croft."

Hera watches the man she knows as Jame Blackthorn's eyes flash with anger. He turns to the man who has entered the room.

His eyes calm as he stands and walks over to Rex. "Been awhile, Rex," he says simply.

"Yeah, General. It has." Rex's eyes are blank as he looks at the Corellian. Finally, his arms go around Blackthorn and both men embrace.

From where she is sitting, Hera can see both men's eyes. They are both stricken with pain.

"How did she get away without you, Rex?"

"She wouldn't let me go. You know how she is when she sets her mind on something." He gathers himself. "I think that she knew that she might not be coming back. I don't know."

"To my everlasting sorrow, I didn't fight her,"

"Did anyone go back?" Jame chokes. "To bring her home?"

Hera answers for the old trooper. "No. Command decided that since our only remaining Jedi was injured and the other was a Padawan; that no one was to go to Malachor."

"And y'all were fine with that?" Blackthorn asks sharply.

"It didn't matter if we were fine with it or not. No one could face that planet unless they were a Jedi. Arguably, our most powerful Force user went there and didn't come back. How could you expect the Rebellion to risk everything?"

Rex looks at Blackthorn. "Croft, as much as I hate this, Ahsoka wouldn't have wanted anyone else to risk it all for her. Especially...." The tears start to fall on his weathered cheeks. "Especially if it was to recover her body."

Blackthorn sits down hard. His entire body shrinks as his shoulders slump.

He looks up at Rex. "Where is Jarrus?" he asks tersely.

"He is meditating," Hera says. "Trying to recover and adapt to the loss of his sight." She stands up and walks over to Blackthorn. She looks down at him. "Don't even think about trying to include him in your little vendetta or affecting his recovery with your anger, Blackthorn. You are not the only one who looks after their own."

"Do you think that I would hurt him, Hera? Or even the boy? Do you think that Ahsoka Tano's memory - the memory of all that she was would let me do that?"

She sees the pain in his eyes - the raw emotion. "If you do, then you don't know me. Ahsoka was the essence of the light side. She was not a Jedi, she was not a Sith - but she held those tenets as a Jedi dear. I could never do anything to sully my memory of her."

She nods. His eyes grow hard - as hard as anyone's she has ever faced. "That isn't to say that I am not going to tear the little shit a new one before I leave here. He needs to understand what he did."

"I think that he does, Croft," Rex says.

"Yeah, but I intend to reinforce it."

Hera explodes. "Who the hell do you think that you are, Blackthorn, or Croft or whatever the hell your name is? My people have been on the frontlines of this Rebellion fighting. They have sacrificed. Ezra lost his mother and father. Zeb his people. Your niece lost her innocence to the Empire in the Academy on Mandalore."

He turns away. "Heras'yndulla," he says. "I am not here to compare notes on what you or I have done. I admire what you and the Ghosts have accomplished. But I will have my say to that young boy. Because no one here seems willing to tell him." He turns to them. "If I don't, someone else could get killed again."

He lifts the corner of his mouth slightly. "Then you'll have another sad-sack standing on your doorstep feeling sorry for himself and wondering how he will go on, this time."

Hera and Rex look at one another. Blackthorn sits. He hears them exit.

His face crumples. He puts his head in his hands.

XXXXX

Hera can tell that Rex has something else to say. She stops and turns to him. "Say it, Rex," she says tersely.

The old man takes a deep breath. "He is not wrong about some of it, Captain."

She narrows her eyes at the soldier. He charges ahead. "Yes, Ezra is young. He made a mistake."

She starts to interrupt, but allows him to continue. "He will grow from it. But he needs to be reminded of it, even with the guilt that he feels."

"Ahsoka told you of her mistake on Ryloth, right?"

Hera nods, remembering an early morning talk with the huntress. "Yes. She did. She didn't seem to suffer for it."

"Well, you didn't see her when it happened. Her Master took her to task for it. He reminded her of his disappointment. Even though I knew that she didn't need reminding."

"She did grow. But her Master, who she worshipped the ground that he walked on, had to be the one to tell her that she was wrong." Rex smiles wistfully. "She fixed it on her own."

"This is a different situation. We are all too close to Ezra. Kanan is reeling from his own wounds. You feel like you need to mother him." He raises his hands at her expression. "There is nothing wrong with that, Hera. You are his commanding officer, but this is strange situation. It's Jedi business." He touches her arm. "It's also family business."

"What about you, Rex? You haven't mentioned yourself."

He closes his eyes. When he opens his eyes, he takes her hand in his. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Because I don't know if I can control myself. I am still so angry at her loss. She was my best friend." When he opens his eyes, Hera is bowled over by the raw pain in those dark eyes. "I loved her. I don't know if I can get to the forgiveness part."

Hera pulls him close to her. "I know, Rex."

He pushes her away, gently. He shakes his head to clear it. "Croft should be the one. He is an outsider. He can make an impression, as someone who loves her, but as someone who has shared that life."

Hera gazes at him, evenly, as she digests that. "Why do you call him by that name?" she finally asks.

"That was the name he had when I knew him as a Jedi."

Her jade features grow sharp. "A Jedi - why doesn't the Rebellion know this? We could use another Jedi."

"Because he can't touch the Force on a regular basis. Something happened to him." He smiles. "I get the idea that he did something for Ahsoka; something that affected his ability."

The smile behind the bushy beard grows wistful. "I think that they have done all sorts of things for each other; fighting together and watching each other's backs. Some kind of oath to each other, from her culture. Not a mating, but something as powerful."

Hera is quiet as she takes this in. "So you see why it might be a good thing for him to talk to Ezra." He gives a very credible Tano-Smirk. "He can leave and won't have to fight and live with Ezra on a day-to-day basis."

"Give him his head, Hera."

She kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks, love. I'll try not to shoot Croft."

"Don't worry. From what I understand, at least one of his captains has threatened to do that every week for over fifteen years."

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Croft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery deepens with an illicit return to Malachor.

Blackthorn lies on his bed in the old _Consular_ class. He stares at the overhead as he thinks of the history of this ship. A Republic light frigate where he became an adult and learned about leading in wartime. Later, the covert plaything and base for a Zeltron security officer and spy. A ship named for her father - a powerful, mercurial, but loving man known to one and all as the Dragon of Corellia, Draq' Bel Iblis. The ship now bears the name of a young Republic naval officer. The young woman who was the heart and soul of this ship in its previous lives.

Almost as many of his own lives as he has discarded.

He smiles. Of course the crew has reverted to the unofficial name given to the battered ship by its clonetroopers in the war against the Separatists. 

The _Bucket_.

He tries not to think of names. Of the name of the little squadron, for that old Dragon, his uncle. A man who taught him as much about life and love as his Master, all while expressing his love in his own unique fashion. 

Of the commandos, now on a mission that they had undertaken for him and him alone, named for the beast whose teeth decorate his gunbelt. Of the names that his Mandalorian infantry have taken on for their small company and its members. Names that recall the young woman who is in his thoughts constantly. Of his Master, who had left both of them her heritage and culture as their legacy. A name taken in honor of that young huntress for her skill as a warrior - her _Mandokar_ \- the essence of Mandalorian virtue.

As he thinks of the ship, its ghosts well up around him. The clones, the crew, and the officers who had given their lives on this ship. He closes his eyes and curses.

In quieter times, in a different war, Ahsoka and he had rested in this bed, simply laughing and existing. 

He feels the warmth throughout his being that announces the commanding officer and owner of record of the _Bucket_ approaching him. The door opens and Dani Faygan walks in. Without a word, she walks in and kicks her boots off. She climbs on the bed and lays next to him, placing her head on his shoulder.

Her usually laughing purple eyes are black with emotion as she watches his face. The warmth that he feels from her is not the sensation that Zeltrons are known for. The ones that they are celebrated for.

These comforts are the ones that truly make Dani Faygan the powerful person she is. The ones centered around his heart and soul.

He also knows that this power comes at a cost. 

The cost is her own grief. Grief and pain at her losses.

He feels her lips move against his shoulder. "Lot of memories, here, King. In this very room."

"Lot of ghosts, too, Daaineran."

For just an instant, he feels a touch of her pain and despair through the empathic resonance. Just a microburst as she quickly stifles it.

"I know, heart of my heart. But I prefer to think of the memories that have been made here."

He feels more warmth as Dani travels to those times and places. Of capturing the light. 

He makes a decision. "Dani, how is your heart-bond doing? She has to be hurting, too."

Dani's eyes grow soft. "She is avoiding me. I think that she prefers to hurt by herself."

"That has never stopped you, before, sweetie. Much to my chagrin." He grins. "Do what you normally do when your 'patient' is recalcitrant."

Her grin matches his. "Which is?"

"Walk in, throw her on the bed and have your way with her."

"Always worked. With you. With your huntress. Even before with that stubborn, well-armed twit I seem to have found myself bonded to."

She grows serious, her expression that of someone with upsetting news.

"I need to tell you, Jame. Andor is back. He has some news."

He closes his eyes. He steels himself. "Did he bring her home?" he says in a whisper.

She waits a moment before answering. "I don't know. I just saw the U-Wing come in."

He gently pushes her off of his shoulder, giving her a quick kiss. He gets up and pulls his boots to him. "Where are you going, love?" Dani asks. 

"I'm going to take a walk along the perimeter, sweetie. Pass the word for Cassian to find me, when he gets settled. Make sure he gets some food first."

"Jame...." 

"I'm fine, Dani. Go to your love." His eyes tear. "But take some time for yourself, Caretaker."

He pulls on the jacket. As he does, he once again swears he can smell her scent wrapping around him. 

Dani rises and walks with him to the hatch. She folds him in her embrace. As he breaks away, he tweaks her nose with his thumb.

As the door closes behind him, Daaineran Faygan pushes herself against the bulkhead and slides down, her breath coming in gasps. The air is punctuated by wracking sobs as she releases her own grief.

Her mind's eye sees a beautiful huntress, their shared laughter at something the man who had just left had done.

Her despair rises in waves. She can feel the reflection of agony throughout the ship.

For once in her life of providing comfort and care, Dani Faygan does not care.

The hatch to the cabin snaps open. Her daughter and the grave young warrior who is her closest companion rush into the compartment and take her into their arms. She is vaguely aware of other crewmembers loitering in the passageway, their own emotions raw. A very large Korun turns to them. "Everybody out. Find something to do off of this ship. Move!" he says. His voice never rises. 

He looks at Jamelyn, his own eyes welling. They share a nod as Jamelyn and Talle return to rocking the sobbing woman.

XXXXX

Croft walks along the perimeter established by the beacons. He had felt Dani's despair and grief welling up as he left the ship. He knew that she had to release her grief alone. He had been around her when she had released a painful hurt that both of them had suffered. She had vowed to him that he would never be overwhelmed by her resonance like that again.

He sees the spider-like creatures that had nearly done for several of the Ghosts when they were establishing the base congregating near the nexus of two of the devices. He had read the reports, out of curiosity when he knew he would have to come here.

Sabine and Rex had been the first to nearly fall. They had fought and survived. He smiles to himself. _Would've loved to have seen that fight. A Wren and a Fett-clone._ His smile fades as he returns to his pain.

_Dammit. Everything reminds me of her._

He is about to fall into the mists of memory again as he hears footsteps behind him. He turns and has his heart wrenched again as he sees a pair of montrals and lekku approaching him.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He opens them and smiles. At the young male Togruta approaching him with a human at his side. The pair walks up to him and salutes. The young hunter seizes him in a tight embrace. He puts his hand on the young man's cheek, briefly. 

"Hello, Cubreem. I'm glad you're back." He nods at the human male next to him. "And you as well, Lieutenant Andor." The man smiles tightly, his dark eyes observing the scene. "Hello, Commodore," he says in an accented voice. 

Cubreem Maashu-Ry, newly promoted Sergeant of commandos, embraces Blackthorn again. "I received a comm-text from Shili before I left, my father-of-the-Hunt. My parents send you their love and say that you are always welcome in their house." His violet eyes, the harbinger of a master hunter on his world, track downward. "They hope that you do. Azaada is chafing at the bit to go on her training Hunt. They think it would be good for both of you, since...." He stops.

 _Since Ahsoka was supposed to take his little sister on that journey. Just as she and I took Cubreem._

He shakes the ghosts away. "Have you eaten? I told Dani for you to get some food before you came to see me."

Andor smiles his slight smile again under the dark mustache. He pulls three ration packs from his haversack. "I ran into a certain Drall ship's doctor. He said that you hadn't eaten in a couple of days. I was to make sure that you eat this, on pain of being force-fed _Nak_ and being compelled to listen to his singing."

"Whose pain? Yours or mine?" Blackthorn asks.

"Pretty sure both of us, sir."

Blackthorn grins sheepishly. He waves his hands at the rocks. "Grab some deck." He pulls out a small flask and passes it to Andor. The intelligence officer takes a drink and passes it to Cubreem. The young Togruta takes a sip ignoring the sharp look from the Commodore. "I am twenty years old, Covenant," he says, calling him by another of his names, an ancient title. He smirks at the Corellian. "Plus, this _akul_ -piss is nothing compared to our wine. It's probably what stunted your growth."

"Spare me from hunters and huntresses who remind me of how short I supposedly am."

Cassian Andor watches the byplay with restrained amusement. When Andor was first assigned to Dragon Squadron, Blackthorn had sensed an air of controlled danger about him. Danger that could become uncontrolled at any moment. His uncle, Fenn Shy'sa, as well as his Major of Commandos, were convinced that Andor was there to keep an eye on him for Command. 

They had recommended leaving 'leaving his ass on whatever shithole they were near at the first opportunity.' 

They were not too concerned with whether said shithole had atmosphere or not.

Andor had somewhat lightened up when he realized that the entire squadron had a propensity for controlled chaos that matched or exceeded his own.

 _Yeah, he has truly lightened up. Not only does he smile on occasion, I no longer feel like he is going to put a blaster bolt in the back of my head._ His expression softens as he thinks of how the spy had taken Cubreem under his wing and taught him some useful skills.

All the while saying he didn't want to get too close to anyone. His eyes harden again.

Andor's smile disappears and he sobers as Blackthorn looks at him, the green gaze boring into him. "Tell me, Lieutenant. What did you find on Malachor?"

"We did as you instructed, Commodore. We jumped into orbit and deployed probes." He looks down. "It was a close-run thing. From the get-go, we were having problems with our nav-sensors. It was as if the planet was fading in and out. We barely got a fix on it."

"Things kind of went tits-up from there, Commodore." He gives an exasperated sigh. "Your Mandos decided to take things into their own hands. They disobeyed your orders not to go to the surface. Shy'sa said something about an oath that they had sworn, and I quote, 'to bring that girl home to you."

Blackthorn smiles as the pain soars. "I can't really sanction them from disobeying orders that were technically illegal for me to issue, seeing that Command had given fairly clear instructions we were not to go there. Please continue, Cassian."

"Of course Major Tredecima has vowed to space them when and if they returned. They went to where Jarrus reported her last position was. There was a lot of rubble from the explosion."

His expression darkens. "The probes had already located the remains of the three Inquisitors. We found nothing of Fulcrum. The Mandos decided to go as far as they could in the tunnels that they found. They went as far as the rubble allowed."

He stops, seeing Blackthorn's expression. He busies himself with finishing the remains of his ration pack. After a moment, Blackthorn returns to his food.

Andor takes a deep breath. "They sent Dr. Heg's micro-droids in. They were able go even further, plus scan even further than they could physically go."

Cubreem takes Blackthorn's hand in his, grasping it tightly. "They couldn't find any remains or any organic matter more recent than several thousand years old. Probably from the time of the battle that we found evidence of." the young Togruta says.

"So you didn't find her," Jame says, his expression unreadable. 

Cubreem is silent. Andor looks at him and then at Blackthorn."No sir," he says. "We couldn't bring her home. I am very sorry."

Blackthorn shakes his head. He lips curl in a crooked smile. "Don't be, Cassian. What you've brought me gives me a clearer picture of the puzzle." _A clearer picture of why I can still feel her in my Force-sense._ "Thank you again, for volunteering. I know it had to be hard for you to disobey Command's orders, especially since you have only recently fallen in with my little band of reprobates."

Andor grins. "Not really, sir. Some of them have rubbed off on me." He looks at Cubreem. "I have also rubbed off on some." His expression turns sorrowful. "I do have to tell you that my time with you is coming to an end. General Draven wants me back."

"We were lucky to have you for the time we did." They stand. "Take care, Lieutenant Andor. Thank you." He returns the officer's salute. "Thank you, Commodore. I think that we have done good things in the last few months for the Rebellion." 

"You know it, Lieutenant," the older man says.

Cassian turns and embraces Cubreem. "I'll see you before I leave, Cubreem. Just wanted to say in front of the Commodore, that it has been an honor watching you grow as a soldier and a leader."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate everything."

As Andor walks off, Cubreem turns his attention to Blackthorn. The older man appears to be lost in thought. 

"What are you thinking, Jame?" he asks gently. Blackthorn starts as if awakening. His expression is unreadable.

"I'm thinking that this is a bigger mystery than when we got here."

"Do you think that my mother-of-the-Hunt is alive?"

"I don't know, little hunter. But I don't think that she is dead."

Cubreem's thoughts are troubled as he walks back to the landing field to greet the returning commandos and Mandalorians.


	4. Kanan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A former and a current Jedi meet and discuss ghosts and mistakes. Together, they find a path forward.

The man known by variety of names sits on a desolate planet and contemplates the fading light. He looks away from his thoughts as he hears a clicking noise coming close to him. He is at the extreme edge of the protective field extended by the beacons.

He gaze falls on the black eyes of the giant spider standing about a meter and a half away from him. He had read the after-action-reports of the Ghosts; particularly the reports of the Force-sensitives. Neither Jarrus or his Padawan had been able to reach the creatures in the Force.

 _Well, what about you, sport?_ a light voice says in his mind. At the entreaty, he reaches into his mind and opens the file drawer marked 'Force-Sense.' He opens it and can feel the hum of constant energy that signifies that it is actually working, for now. He visualizes his hands molding the energy and tossing it to the arachnid. 

His mind senses the resistance; like the Force energy is gently rebounding. He pushes it back to the big ugly. Gently.

His mind is assailed by a new picture. A stereo picture of himself, as he makes contact with the creature. _No! Fear! Unknown!_ batters against his mind in a powerful wave. 

He centers himself, projecting warmth and reassurance. He feels the agitation lessen in the creature's mind. He sees himself through the eyes as the stereo view coalesces.

He sees a scarred human sitting a rock, the wind ruffling his gray hair and his clothing. He feels calm flowing over the creature.

He takes a deep breath and tracks the spider's vision up to his own eyes. As he does, the fear and anger returns as he sees his own eyes.

The pain and the agony reflect in them to the creature. His own vision returns just in time to see the creature hurl itself against the interference field and scream.

He feels the tenuous Force connection shred and tuck itself back into the shadows of memory.

As he does, he catches a glimpse of darkness with a small fire. Of a slightly younger version of himself reaching out. Reaching out from the darkness. From the warmth of a bedroll.

His heart wrenches as he sees the beautiful huntress lying against him in the bedroll; her brilliant blue eyes coming open and awake. He can feel her cool skin against him as he watches them through the eyes of another.

Another beast, but one with two eyes. With scarred orange fur and very large teeth.

One sitting by the fire, watching them as his mind reaches and connects with the beast.

The apex predator, other than ones like the huntress resting against him, her lekku twitching against his bare chest.

His senses can feel the sleepy smile on her features. "Guess you've made a new friend, Bait. What's he telling you?"  


"He's telling me that I need to curb my female. That she needs to stifle those screams that are disturbing his hunting at night or his sleep during the day, or he is going to eat her."

He can feel the smile morph into the Smirk that cuts through his heart and mind. "You might want to tell him that I am already well and truly eaten. Said eating might be the source of all of that noise."

Their shared laughter rises as he sees the _Akul_ lie its head on its front paws. Its watchful eyes track back to the area outside the perimeter of the fire. 

Ahsoka turns in his arms and looks at him. He examines her face; its every feature so well known to him. A face that still bears traces of that young ex-Padawan that had claimed his body over a decade ago and his heart soon after. Traces tempered by time and responsibility, but still a face that seizes his heart on the increasingly rare occasions that they meet. Her eyes remain open as she kisses him. Their foreheads rest against each other. 

His mouth tracks to her throat and lekku, as her teeth gently pulls at the skin of his neck. 

"You sure you are going to be able to handle another round at your advanced age?" he breathes against her breasts.

"Anytime, anyplace _ie'ar._ " she says. 

"I had to ask," he says. "Seeing the amount of poodoo that I got on this particular name-day, Runt. I have to give it back seeing that you have reached the advanced age of thirty."

"Don't know what you're talking about, sport." she replies as his breathing grows faster. "Besides, you were an old man when you were uncorked. I have always been young and vital."

She pulls him down on top of her. He feels the light expand as she wraps her legs around his back. He eases himself inside of her as he feels her mouth on his throat.

She spends the next hour proving how young and vital she is.

As their breathing slows and their sweat-soaked skin again rests against one another, he can feel her pensiveness as they face each other on their sides; their arms around each other.

Holding on as if they will never see each other again.

 _No guarantees, these days,_ he thinks. His mind tracks back to the last few missions together. Their close calls as ISB agents, criminals, ordinary bucketheads, and the new class of issues known as Inquisitors have nearly done for them. _No. Not new. She has faced one before. When she was still a teenager._

The last time, only his last-minute realization of an older distress code had kept him from falling into a trap.

 _That, and an old 'friend's' timely warning._ An action that had nearly put that friend's life in danger and made his position precarious as the Imperial viceroy of Corellia.

"I can hear you thinking from here, love," the huntress says. She kisses him again. "We have to talk about the possibility of laying low or at least seeing each other even less frequently."

He closes his eyes. "Can we not, right now, _cyare_? I just want to hold you and drink in your light. I can't think about this right this moment."

Ahsoka sighs. "Okay, Bait," she says. "But we need to talk about it."

Blackthorn comes back to himself as he feels another presence in the Force walking closer to him. _We never did. We just argued about it the three times that I saw her again over the next couple of years._

_It just happened._

XXXXX

Blackthorn stands and turns as he hears tentative footsteps behind him. He watches as a tall young man, his brown hair pulled away from his bearded face, closes on him.

Led by a well-used astromech.

His own eyes track up to the bandage around the young man's eyes.

He opens his Force-sense a tiny bit. He is again flooded by memories. Of a very small, very young Initiate asking innumerable questions as he and his Padawan work with two youngling clans on lightsaber technique. A time much further back than his last memory.

But still tied to that huntress that made his heart and soul leap. To a time, just after she was driven from the Order. The Order that she had given her life to from age three. 

To a time when their feelings for each other were strong, but different.

A time when a younger version of this man's blue-green eyes were still intact and not covered by a bandage.

"Hello, Knight Jarrus," he says. He reaches out his hand and takes the Jedi's right hand. He pulls it up to his face.

Kanan's hand gently runs over his features. "Hello, Commodore Blackthorn. But my Force sense and my memory are telling me that you once had a different name."

"Good memory, Kanan. But I think that I am not the only one who had a different name."

"That is in the past, Commodore. That person who you think you knew died a long time ago."

"Same here, Kanan. Call me Jame," the older man says. He laughs gently. "It's actually the name I was apparently born with. All the others have been masks."

He takes hold of the young Jedi's arm and guides him to a rock, easing him gently down.

"For just a moment there a little while ago, I felt you in the Force. I actually felt you successfully connecting to the spiders. Then nothing until you opened it up to guide me to you," Kanan says, his eyebrows raised.

He can almost feel one corner of Blackthorn's mouth quirking up. "My Force sensitivity these days is akin to an ancient carrier wave form of communication. Spotty at best."

Kanan doesn't smile. "But you were able to touch those creatures. Neither Ezra or I were able to."

"I've had a little bit of extra training." Jarrus can feel his pain. "A certain young Huntress, as well as an older one taught me to reach out to large predators. To try to connect with them," Blackthorn says. "It wasn't until after the Jedi died that the young Huntress and I really tried to connect with the main predators on her and my Master's world. When we were tired of killing and dying."

He looks at the creature. "We still had to take teeth occasionally, but we were able to refine our hunting skills differently."

"You were Master Ti's Padawan, weren't you?" Kanan asks directly. 

"Yes," Jame says simply.

Kanan doesn't ask further. "I hear that you have a problem with my Padawan," he says bluntly.

Blackthorn narrows his eyes at him. He nods, but catches himself. "Yes, I do, Kanan."

"Well, then we have a problem." He pauses. "Knight Croft."

"No, we don't. Kanan. We honestly don't. It is probably something that you should address. But you are reeling right now. Almost as much as I am. If not more." He stops and gathers himself. "But someone does need to show your Padawan that there are costs to his actions. To show him on behalf of someone who cannot speak for herself."

"You don't think Ezra feels Ahsoka's loss? She..." 

The silence is leaden. "She was a mentor to us both. Even though she denied being a Jedi, I felt like she was the essence of what the Jedi should have been. Of what they could've been."

His bandage tracks downward. He reaches out with his right hand. Blackthorn takes it in his and squeezes gently. "I had occasion to link with Ahsoka on a mission. Before we broke off, I saw you in her mind." It is his turn to gather himself. "I saw what you meant to her. What she meant to you."

Blackthorn shakes his head violently, trying to dispel the pain and sorrow. "Kanan. I don't want to involve you. I would probably engender an asskicking from Ahsoka for what I am going to say to him, but that has never stopped me before."

He smirks to himself for a moment. He looks up and sees a smile on Kanan's face. "What I am not going to do, is take you to task for his failings. My Master was taken to task quite a bit for my perceived failings and mistakes. I will never do that."

"Why, not, Jame? A Master is responsible for the mistakes of the Padawan."

"To a certain extent." He closes his eyes. "I was a stubborn, willful little shit. My mouth worked faster than my brain should've allowed. Ti was patient with me. She allowed me my mistakes; calling me down when I tested even her patience."

"Then why don't you allow Ezra the same courtesy?"

Blackthorn gives an aggravated sigh. "Because I just said, she corrected me when I made a mistake. But she did as you are doing. She defended me to others."

"But I never had to face the loved one of someone who I had gotten killed due to my stupidity. Maybe I was lucky that way. But when I did something that I was taken to task for, I do know that I let the guilt go a great deal faster than if it festered. Especially if I thought it was something that was the end of the universe."

A smile flows onto his face. A smile intense enough that Kanan can feel it in his voice. "The other reason I am not taking you to task, Kanan Jarrus, is that a very frightening, but beautiful Twi'lek captain threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I did while you were healing."

The smile can be heard in Kanan's voice as well. "Welcome to my world. I am in fear for my life most of the time I have been with her. All in the name of 'love' and 'family.'

Blackthorn grows serious. "Cherish it, Kanan. That is all that I can say."

They both fall silent. "I am sorry to have to ask this, Jame. Did Cassian and your band of reprobates find her?" His voice chokes. "If they did, I will help you prepare her."

"Thanks Kanan, but unfortunately, they didn't find any answers. Or trace of her."

Something in his voice gives Kanan pause. "You're not telling me the whole truth, Jame. What? It doesn't mean anything that they didn't find her body. That place was pretty well trashed by the explosion. She fought the Sith hard. But she had also taken a high fall. She was so strong, but I think that she was flagging."

Blackthorn is silent as Jarrus finishes. "We couldn't feel her as we were leaving after the explosion. Neither of us could tell you what we felt in the explosion, but we know we couldn't feel her at all afterwards."

Jarrus' bandage centers on his face. "You feel something, don't you Jame?"

Blackthorn takes a deep breath. He looks at Jarrus. "I didn't feel her initially after I found out. When I received her belongings, I tried one last time to touch the Force. I did, but I couldn't feel her."

"For only a moment. Then it was like she wasn't gone. I feel her presence. It is dormant; only a few impressions, but she is here." He taps his head.

He smiles. "I know that I may have a tenuous grip on reality right now. I have thought that she might be my own subconscious. Maybe even my conscience." His smile fades. "In times of trauma, when I have been unconscious, my dead have spoken to me. They have brought me back."

Kanan's eyebrows raise, but he remains silent. "But this feels different. I don't see her as I did them. Just her Force sense. I feel her in my head, just as if she was sitting where you are."

"Where do you think she is?"

"I don't know," Blackthorn answers. "I hope it is more than just a Force trick. But I don't know where to start."

"Maybe I am just reaching, Caleb."

He starts as he realizes his mistake. He makes to apologize. Kanan shakes his head. "Don't be - Taliesin."

He touches Blackthorn's hand. "Maybe you are reaching. That there is something that you want so much, that it is clouding your judgement."

"But I like to believe in hope, Jame. What was that saying on one of the Temple columns? _In valor, there is hope._

"She is one of the bravest people I know, Commodore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew that Tacitus was a Jedi?


	5. Chopper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two astromechs discuss their families and their losses.
> 
> A young apprentice survives an initial meeting.

A little orange astromech trundles back to the _Ghost_ , leading the meatbag Jedi to his quarters. He had managed not to run the Jedi into too many rocks. The Jedi's curses had reverberated through Chopper's auditory sensors until he was deposited back in his quarters with the Captain's expression boring into Chopper.

Chopper rolls to the perimeter. His sensors come alert as he sees a new astromech sitting near the perimeter his photoreceptor locked on the horizon.

Between his meatbags and the new meatbags, there had been a lot of staring at the horizon.

Ever since his Commander had not returned with them from the dark planet. His own memories of the tiny orange and then the tall, graceful orange warrior play in an endless loop through his brain.

The little droid stops and tries to delete the loop of the Commander. He finds that he cannot. The loop stops on the warrior climbing down from the gun turret and rubbing his dome as if years had not passed since she had commanded his Y-Wings and his first meatbags.

When his Captain had reclaimed him and repaired him.

He focuses his photoreceptors on the unfamiliar droid. An R-series with a red, green, and white outer hull. _+This will not stand. New droids must bow down.+_

He is about to ram into the rear of the astromech, when he hears a mournful boop issue from the speaker. 

He stops as he translates the binary. _+Snips.+_

His memory loop starts again. Of that tiny version of his Commander slumped on the hull of the Aethersprite, her eyes downcast as the tall scarred one tells her how disappointed he is in her.

He calls her 'Snips.' 

Chopper's memories go deeper as he sees the astromech sitting over the tiny Commander's shoulder.

A red, green, and white astromech. A droid that sits on Chopper's base, mournfully repeating the nickname of Chopper's Commander.

He sidles up to the R-series. He looks at the identifier. R7-A7. He pulls himself closer to R7. He extends one of his utility arms and softly pats the droid on the dome. 

+ _You are the Commander's astromech?_ +

+ _Yes. I have that honor,_ \+ the red one, R7, says.

+ _I mourn her loss with you, R7-A7._ +

+ _She was my existence,_ \+ R7 says. + _We had each other's backs, always, C1-10P._ +

+ _I know. She saved my crew on the dark planet. She always watched over them; even if they didn't know it,_ +Chopper replies.

The droids fall silent as they think of one's Commander. Another's Snips.

As they speak of their shared warrior, more loops begin to play in Chopper's memories.

Of the long distance view of the brave warrior standing tall against the dark one, a flurry of deadly dancing and fighting with her energy blades. Fighting fearlessly, just as she always had. Just as she had fearlessly leaped onto Chopper's Y-Wing before they launched to take on the Separatist fleet.

Before she had led them to victory. A victory that led Chopper to his Captain. To these other annoying meatbags.

What his meatbags and his Captain call a family.

His circuits fall as he thinks of the last vision of his Commander. Of pushing the little Jedi away as he tried to go to the Commander's aid.

He sees the unflagging energy of her fight against the dark one as the portal closed. As the Temple exploded as he lifted his injured crew to safety.

Without his Commander.

He thinks of the gray one that the older Jedi had spoken with. Of the pain in his eyes as he spoke of the possibility that his Commander might not be shut down.

Of something else in those photoreceptors. 

C1-10P is not experienced in such things, but he knows his true emotions towards his crew and his Captain. That he would sacrifice his own existence for them. Even if he would never admit that.

He had seen it in the gray one's eyes. For his Commander.

+ _Arseven, there is something you should know. The gray one. The one that came with you._ +

+ _Yes,_ Arseven replies. _I call him the Scream-maker._ +

A perplexed beep issues from Chopper's speaker.

+ _Because he always was making Snips scream when they were together._ +

+ _Ahh. So his linkage assembly was in her receptacle. Seems to be a lot of that going on with my crew. I think only the Little One and the Big One are the only ones not making all that noise. Although the Little One seems to make a lot of noise when he is by himself._ +

Arseven beeps in agreement. + _Of course, your Snips did do a little bit of making the explosion-artist scream,_ \+ Chopper finishes. 

+ _Wouldn't doubt it,_ Arseven says. _Both the Scream-maker and Snips seemed very energetic when they were together. Or with certain others. Especially the red one and the blue one._ +

Arseven's binary grows serious again. + _What about Scream-maker?_ +

+ _He doesn't think the Commander is deactivated. He says that he 'feels' her in that whatever it is that the Jedi are going on about,_ \+ Chopper replies.

Arseven is silent for a moment. + _I would not doubt it. I have always been a Jedi astromech. I have seen incredible things since I was activated._ +

+ _Me, too,_ \+ Chopper replies. + _I watched her leap from the ground to our ship as we were taking off. I watched her protecting my crew._ +

+ _For all we complain about our meatbags; our crew; they are like us," Arseven says. They risk deactivation for each other every day. And for us._ +

Chopper touches his utility arm to Arseven's in agreement.

Chopper's scanner alarm goes off. He sees the _Phantom_ angling for a landing. 

The rest of his crew is back.

His family.

He turns to Arseven. + _Enjoy yourself here. But just remember. This place is called Chopper Base for a reason. It's mine._ +

Arseven gives a definite raspberry in reply. His utility arm swipes upward in an easily understood gesture of contempt.

Chopper doesn't reply. He turns and rolls towards the landing field. He sees the gray one striding purposefully towards the _Phantom._ He increases speed at the prospect of violence or defending his crew against violence. 

The Captain and the explosion-artist are striding just as purposefully. They all stop as the ramp opens.

The little one assists the big one from the ship. One purple-furred arm hangs useless by the big one's side.

Chopper increases his speed. He can hear Arseven behind him.

XXXXX

Ezra turns Zeb over to the battered meddroid. Zeb ruffles his hair and says, "Thanks, kid. I'll be okay."

"Yeah, well, see if they can do something about the smell while you're in there," the boy says. Zeb is about cuff him with his free hand, but stops himself as he sees the expression on the Padawan's face.

The same expression that he had seen on the boy's face for the last month. Ever since their return from that damned planet.

An expression of guilt and hopelessness. Of pain and loss.

Ezra notices that there are strangers gathering around the landing area. One, a very tiny red-furred creature, immediately walks over to Zeb. The creature pushes the medical droid out of the way and pulls out a medical scanner. He says something to the Lasat; something that actually makes Zeb smile and then break out in laughter in spite of his wound.

There seems to be a larger number of Mando-armored beings around than before. Two smaller armored warriors come up and pull their buckets off, revealing two beautiful young women. Their eyes fall on Ezra. Immediately he wishes to be somewhere else; away from that fierce scrutiny. An older woman, her crimson skin the most noticeable thing about her, walks up to them and says something. The armored women nod respectfully and turn and walk back to a strange ship sitting a distance away from the _Phantom_ and the _Ghost._

The crimson woman looks at him curiously, but smiles carefully at him. The smile is about the warmest thing he has seen from these strangers. Unaccountably, the warmth spreads elsewhere, before she turns and walks away.

One one person remains. Ezra can feel scrutiny on his back even before he turns. As he does, a slight buzz in the Force tingles at his neck.

A human male stands there, clad in Mando armor, but with no helmet. The wind blows up, ruffling his gray hair. He is not tall, but his body speaks of command, especially as several of the strangers salute or nod when they pass him.

Ezra takes a step back as his gaze reaches the man's eyes. 

All at once, the man's power and controlled anger assaults Ezra's Force sense.

Anger and pain that threatens to become uncontrolled as he looks at the young Jedi.

For one moment the man's shields drop and Ezra receives a sharp image. The image of a tall, graceful Togruta smiling brightly and folding into his arms. A serene warrior that Ezra has never seen smiling so brightly. The looks that the two give each other speak of years of understanding and humor. _Of love._

He understands the pain and anger in one instant. Hera and Rex walk up to him and place their hands on the man's chest. His eyes grow colder on Ezra, but he doesn't move. He finally shakes off the two hands and walks to his ship. His shoulder brushes past Ezra on the way.

Ezra has to fight not to rub where the man's solid shoulder struck his. His shoulders slump as the wave of grief and anger dissipates.

Leaving only a hollow feeling in his Force sense.


	6. Sabine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mando tries to protect both of her families.

Sabine sips at the last bottle of her precious _netra'gel_. She puts the finishing touches on a new design on her armor; a tiny one that anyone would have to look for. A rueful smile passes over her sharp features as she examines the tiny blue, orange, and white abstraction. 

She closes her eyes as she thinks of the pain that she has seen and experienced in that short month. She unfolds her feet from beneath her and walks over to her bunk. She keys open one of the drawers underneath the mattress. She pulls her sketchbook out. The one that she keeps locked up, rather than her everyday book.

She turns to the center - a page marked by a tiny orange piece of flimsi. She looks down at the page; her expression turning pensive. As she looks at the page, she suddenly realizes that a canine is worrying her lip in a thoughtful pose that she had seen on the subject of the sketch many times in the last year since they had met.

She angrily shakes her head to dispel the emotions. She looks at the sketch again. A sketch of a powerful huntress and warrior asleep. The very picture of coiled energy and readiness to strike. Of a moment of rest after a moment of light.

She looks closer at the depiction. Her eyes close as they start to tear. She realizes that the young huntress; the powerful warrior, and ex-Jedi was not resting. There was no peace in the sleeping face.

A mixture of pain and uncertainty in that sleeping face. Something that Sabine realizes had been present in Ahsoka's face ever since they had gotten back from the Lothal mission and the unknown TIE pilot had ravaged their little squadron.

Since she had collapsed when she and Kanan had reached out to the pilot.

There had been a question on her face since then. 

Sabine was sure that she had seen hints of the joyous, snarky Padawan during her time with the Togruta, especially in the spar after the Lothal mission. The spar in which Ahsoka had challenged her to not let her own perceived failures at Lothal to color her future. The spar that had led to this sketch; as well as another that rested under her bunk, as well as in the hands of her uncle and a modified version in the hands of a quiet, grieving clone captain.

She smiles at the wager made that day that led to the art. She looks closely at the bare shoulder depicted there. The tiniest hint of a glancing blaster burn. If there had been a sketch of Sabine done that day, it would have depicted a slight bruise on her shoulder. A bruise gained an instant after she had managed to glance a blaster bolt off of Ahsoka's skin.

She sends the thought of stolen moments away as she remembers shared kisses on wounds. The pain rises again as she thinks of finding out after Ahsoka didn't come back from Malachor that her uncle and she had been as close as they had been.

The fact that Blackthorn had mentioned the 'art' session had made her heart sink at the idea of hurting him or Ahsoka.

A quiet knock at her cabin door raises her from her reverie and her pain. She places the sketchbook back in its drawer. 

She pads over to the door and opens it. Hera stands there, clad in her customary flight suit. "Hey, Sabine. You okay?" the Captain asks, seeing her expression. "Five by five, Hera. What do you need?"

Hera smiles and touches her Mando's cheek. "I need you to go over and get your uncle. Ezra brought back some information from that meet that he and Zeb went on that the Commodore might be interested in. Something that he has had feelers out for quite some time."

Sabine looks at Hera for a long moment. "Are you sure that we want to bring those two together? I saw how Jame was looking at Ezra when he got back."

Hera smiles ruefully. "Can't keep them apart forever, 'bine," the Twi'lek says. She thinks for a moment. "If you can, bring the Zeltron - Commander Faygan. She might be the edge we need."

"Hera, do you actually think my _ba'vodu_ would actually hurt Ezra?"

The pilot looks at the warrior. "No. I don't think so. But grief and pain can do strange things to people. Even ex-Jedi."

XXXXX

Sabine walks up to the entry port of her uncle's battered _Consular_ cruiser. As she waits for the watch to finish checking and onboarding supplies, she looks at the paint of the ship. Her hands trace several layers of paint under the haze gray. Her artist's eye can see the old red hue of the Republic's diplomatic colors that all naval, Judicial, and Jedi vessels were marked with. The red remnants were not just present in a stripe around the center, but covered the vessel - denoting Coruscant-based. Her paint-stained fingers trace gently over another remnant. The forest green of the Five Brothers of Corellia. Her uncle's other world; the one that often found itself in opposition to _Manda'yaim._

"Hello," a soft voice says. Sabine jerks herself back to the present. A young woman of about Ezra's age or slightly older stands in front of the entry port. "You're my uncle's niece aren't you?" Sabine starts with recognition. The girl had been wearing _beskar'gam_ when the little flotilla had arrived. She is clad in standard ship's clothing now, the gold chain worn over the tank top.

The gold chain that signifies her importance to her world. The girl, - _Jamelyn - that was her name,_ smiles a bright smile at the Mando. Sabine smiles back. "Does that make us cousins of some kind?"

The Elector-Presumptive smiles. "Hell if I know. I've given up trying to figure out who is related to who in this crazy-ass family," she says. Both young women laugh. Something neither have heard in a while.

Both young women see each other's faces grow dim. 

_Approximately one month before, to be as exact as possible,_ both think.

When a small ship had returned with one less and two damaged, for one. 

When an early morning comm-call had shattered a number of lives on the three ships that made up Dragon Squadron for the other.

Including the man who had helped shape her, Jamelyn thinks. Who had taken her into his life and that of his little _whatever this was._

She thinks of her uncle on the rare occasions that Ahsoka and he were able to meet one another. Between missions and violence. Of the lightness and humor in their eyes when Jamelyn was able to observe them.

At least until last year, when she had wandered onto the shore of a lake on a lush green world to a tableau that she had never seen before. 

Jame Blackthorn and Ahsoka Tano squaring off; anger and hurt rolling of of them in waves. They had both started when she had walked out from the trail through the woods. Both of them standing; their arms folded and their eyes filled with something she had never seen in the eyes of either of these warriors.

Fear. Anger.

Fear for each other. Anger at each other.

Her uncle had turned and walked away. She had turned to Ahsoka. The older woman had plastered a smile on her face.

Unlike every other time she had seen her, the smile had not made it to her brilliant blue eyes. Her uncle's huntress had hugged Jamelyn to her and kissed her on the cheek. "Watch out for him, little Queen," Ahsoka had whispered into her ear. As she turned to walk away, Jamelyn had seen the fear, the hurt, and unimaginably painful memory flashing across her beautiful features.

She feels a hand on her shoulder. She comes back to herself. She looks into the young Mandalorian's eyes. Sabine reaches up and brushes the tears from the Elector's cheeks. "I miss her, too, Jamelyn. I didn't know her long, but gods, she....."

The artist stops and looks down. "I have been lucky. I have been taught by two of the strongest women in the galaxy. My Captain is one. Ahsoka Tano is the other." She shakes her head angrily, willing no tears to fall. "I am sorry, Jamelyn."

"Don't be, Sabine. I have been lucky in the women who have taught me, as well."

The two young women stand there. Both raised to fight; with differing levels of one warrior culture in their development; as well as to survive, with differing levels of a powerful huntress' culture, silently embrace. Each of them fighting back tears.

An older, crimson-skinned woman silently watches them, her own tears welling at her helplessness.

XXXXX

Jame Blackthorn walks into the makeshift command post of Chopper Base. Dani Faygan and Jamelyn Blackthorn follow close behind. He sees Ezra standing next to Hera around the holotank.

The temperature drops considerably as Blackthorn stares at the boy. The very large Lasat comes and stands next to Ezra. His right arm and chest are bandaged heavily, courtesy of the Dragons' medical officer on the _Opportunity._ But he stands solid next to his roommate and stares with baleful yellow eyes at the human.

Dani places her hand on Blackthorn's elbow. The temperature rises once again as every sentient in the room feels an unaccountable warmth.

The ones who came with her are used to it. Jame takes a deep breath and turns to Hera. He nods. "What do you have for me, Captain Syndulla?" he asks formally.

Hera looks at him for a moment. "Zeb and Ezra," she says, nodding to the two, "went to meet with a known contact on Garel." Sabine sees a pained look flow over uncle's features for a brief second before returning to his blank stare. "An Ithorian that we have dealt with before. They found him dying from a blaster wound. The contact told them that he had information on something or someone called Touchstone."

Blackthorn and his two officers share a look. Hera notes it, but continues. "I remembered a communique from Fulcrum a while back on your behalf. She stares evenly at him. "The contact, before he died, gave Ezra and Zeb a key to a storage locker for a datacard. A datacard with information on something called Project Replica on it."

Dani gives an involuntary gasp. Jame and Jamelyn both touch her arms. All three officers look stricken. Blackthorn looks at Zeb. "Captain Orrelios, did your contact say anything about where Touchstone or," he pauses, "the subject of Replica might be?"

"Not a Captain anymore, chum. Just Zeb." Blackthorn stares at him, but smirks and nods. "No. He didn't. For some reason, he thought that Touchstone might be in Imperial custody, but he got the idea from his contacts that it was a local lockup somewhere. Not a big bad Imperial presence."

"Were you able to get the database?" Jamelyn asks. "No," Ezra says. We were attacked by Fleet troopers from a light cruiser. Zeb was hit; I couldn't leave him."

For the first time, Blackthorn speaks to the teenager. "So you failed to get the information you were sent after."

Hera pushes her way to Blackthorn. She closes to within a half-meter and stares at the Corellian. He does not flinch from her gaze. "One of his teammates was injured. Ezra would not abandon him."

Blackthorn's eyes narrow. He looks at Ezra and then back to Hera. When he speaks, everyone in hearing distance knows who he addresses. "That would be a switch, now wouldn't it?"

The room is silent. Ezra turns and leaves the room. Zeb takes a step towards the older human. Rex puts his hand on Zeb's good arm. Their eyes lock; Rex shakes his head imperceptibly.

The Lasat looks into Rex's eyes. His own yellow eyes morph from anger to a question.

To trust. He looks at Blackthorn with the eyes back to anger. He follows Ezra. 

Sabine gives Jame her own look as she follows.

As he leaves, a loud rumble starts up from outside.

Hera looks at the Commodore. "What the hell is going on, Blackthorn?"

"That would be my pirate, Captain Syndulla. She is getting ready to head out in my big ship to provide support."

"Support for what?" she asks with narrowed eyes. "Support for a little retrieval mission that I am about to run."

"Now wait just a minute. One of the reasons that Commander Sato took our command ship and the other CR-90s on that raid was the idea that your flotilla and your fighters would be here for base security. That kind of puts us in a bind if we are attacked, without that CR-90 and your fighter detachment."

"I thought about that, Hera," Blackthorn says. "Now that we know we are going to Garel, I will stage the _Opportunity_ about halfway between, where Captain Rhayme can jump to save either of our asses." He looks her in the eye. "I'll leave our fighters here, as well."

"What is this information to you, Commodore? What is so goddamned important that you would risk the only true base the Rebellion has?"

Blackthorn's eyes track downward. Dani speaks for him. "Something we have been looking for since the end of the Clone War. Something very important to two members of this unit. As well as something that could be very crucial to the Rebellion."

Blackthorn speaks to the young pilot. "Hera, we can't be sure, so I can't tell you any more. I am just asking you to trust me on this."

"What about the information? Touchstone?"

"Probably one of the best slicers in the galaxy. He used to be my big brother."

Hera's tattooed eyebrows raise, but she doesn't ask. "Who is going?"

"Me, Sabine if you can spare her, one of my commandos, and Rex if he agrees."

Hera looks at him as if he is crazy. Jame is not prepared to dispute her assertion.

She smiles deviously. "You'll need a Jedi."

"Sorta got one."

"One that is not defective."

Blackthorn's eyes flash, but he says nothing. Dani and the Elector are holding their breath. "So this is your idea of putting me in my place, Captain Syndulla?"

"Not at all Commodore. Ezra knows Garel from when we were based there, as well as several missions there."

"Yeah, but can I trust him to follow my orders to the letter?"

Rex speaks up. "I know that you don't trust him, Tal, but he is a good fighter and very skilled. You can count on me, General."

"I know Rex." He clenches his teeth and examines a map on a far bulkhead. Dani puts her hand on his shoulder.

He looks at her for a moment. Hera gets the idea that an entire conversation goes on in that one brief look.

He slumps slightly. "Okay. I'll go talk to him. Rex, have Sabine meet us near that old _Nu_ -class that we unshipped from the infantry transport."

He scans everyone in the room with his intense green gaze. "One thing that I ask of you. Please do not mention what we have said in this room to Major and Lieutenant Tredecima. I don't want to get their hopes up about this." His eyes grow fierce. "I won't have them hurt."

Hera looks at him with a perplexed look on her face. After a moment, she nods.

He turns to go. Hera steps in front of him. "I know that this is hard for you, Jame. You will have your chance to speak your piece to him about Ahsoka. But I appreciate you giving him a chance."

"I don't know how I feel about this, Hera. But I will give him a chance. Rex and Sabine will probably keep me from dropping him out of an airlock."

She puts her head against his chest. He touches her cheek and leaves. 

Dani walks over to Hera and takes the young Captain in her arms. "When did you get so wise, young one?"

"A certain huntress helped me see a lot of things more clearly, Commander."

Dani looks down. They stand there thinking about that huntress.

XXXXX

Jame Blackthorn strides purposefully to the old Clone Wars-era shuttle. An old shuttle with more ghosts from his past. Including that of the mother's sister of the young woman walking up to him.

He stops. "You have a second, _ba'vodu_?"

"For you, Sabine, always. What's up?" he says. The young woman looks down. "About Ahsoka, Uncle. I didn't know what she meant to you when I....." He places the fingers of his left hand over her lips. She notices that his ring finger is covered with scar tissue from the hand to the first knuckle; as well as a _beskar_ ring over the scar.

"Shh, _ad'ika_. I know." He smiles crookedly. "We were not possessive with each other. We knew that each time we were together could be our last. Our hearts were each other's, but we knew we had to grab the light wherever we could in this darkness."

"Plus, I don't know if I...." He stops and looks down. "I hadn't seen her in nearly a year. We argued. I was stupid."

It is Sabine's turn to place her fingers on his lips. "Uncle, one thing that I learned about Ahsoka Tano is that once you were hers, you stayed hers."

He nods slightly. He looks up at her and steels himself. "Come on, 'bine. I need to go talk to your little friend. I may need you as a witness."

"Uncle. You are _allit_. But so is Ezra. Don't make me choose."

He nods. "I am only here for Ahsoka, love. Not for myself. She isn't here to speak for herself."

"Are you sure about that, Jame?" the young woman asks.

He cannot answer.


	7. Zeb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More mysteries come to light. Two hunters have their first conversation with Ezra. Ezra lives.
> 
> Zeb has a conversation with one of the hunters. The hunter keeps his arms and legs attached.

Blackthorn walks into the lounge on the _Ghost._ He takes a deep breath as Ezra rises. The Lasat Honor Guard, _Zeb_ , leans against the bulkhead. He can feel the guilt rolling off of the Padawan in waves.

Ezra looks down for half a second and then looks Blackthorn in the eye. His blue eyes show defiance. For a moment, something like approval flows in the older man's green eyes.

Jame Blackthorn is suddenly transported back in time and space. A younger version stands in a circle of Masters of the Council.

_"Taliesin Croft. You will not be expelled from the Jedi Order for your participation in this....stunt," says the Korun Master, his features hard. You will, however, make yourself scarce from the Temple. You and your Master, who has taken responsibility for your actions, will go to Shili, for a period of one year for further study." Mace Windu's face softens as he looks at Croft's Master, who stands next to him. Croft looks at her with shame - shame at her facing this humiliation. His eyes tear, but he tries to harden himself. Ti looks at him, her face grave. In an instant, she winks at him before she turns attentively back to face Windu._

Blackthorn shakes his head to clear the memory. 

The approval in his eyes is quickly replaced, as he tries to steel himself. Another huntress' face intrudes in his thoughts. She smiles at him. He closes himself to the thoughts of the past.

"Captain Syndulla seems to think that I can use you on this mission," he says without preamble.

He glances down and rubs his forehead. "I am not so convinced. I am not so convinced that you can follow orders long enough to keep your fellow crew alive."

He sees Ezra's fists clench, then relax. "Seems to have worked so far. My crew has survived." As soon as he says it, Ezra wishes he could take it back. Zeb shakes his head gently.

Blackthorn does not rise. "I guess that I could use a Jedi. Especially one that might know the target location."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," the Padawan says. "It's almost overwhelming."

Zeb closes his eyes, waiting for the older man to rip the younger apart. Something like fire flows into the Corellian's eyes.

"I do know one thing," he says with quiet menace. "If you disobey one order, especially one that results in as much as a goddamned hangnail to one of your fellow crew..." He stops. "I hope that you enjoy Garel. You'll be staying there a good long time."

Ezra's eyes widen; then narrow. His hands cross his chest in defiance. "Who the hell do you think you are? I don't work for you. I work for Hera Syndulla and Kanan Jarrus."

"You do on this particular job, Sunshine."

The young Lothali doesn't miss a beat. In his mind's eye, he sees nothing but hues of red and black and yellow. "What the hell would someone like Ahsoka see in an asshole like you, _Commodore_?" he blurts out. "She was better than a broken-down...." He stops.

It is Blackthorn's turn for his fists to clench.

They don't relax.

The room falls silent. Sabine walks in and stands next to Blackthorn. "Ezra. That was uncalled for."

"Don't know, Sabine. Pretty much everything he has said to me has been uncalled for."

Blackthorn's temper boils over. "Oh, yeah? I don't think that I have said enough, little boy. How about the fact that your stupidity cost me something precious. Something worth more than you would ever be."

The Corellian stops. He shakes his head and closes his eyes. He hears a bright voice in his mind say one word.

 _Baa'je._ A whisper in his mind. Then another, through his Force sense. _No._

He opens his eyes. He realizes that he is swaying. Sabine puts her hand on his arm. "Uncle?" she says, concern in her dark eyes. He puts his hand on the _dejarik_ table.

He turns to Ezra and says calmly, "Are we clear, Padawan, on how things are going to go on this mission?"

Ezra's eyes are wide at the switch. He nods. "Good," Blackthorn says. "You have a weapon?"

The boy looks down. "I haven't constructed a new lightsaber yet."

The older warrior nods. He reaches behind him on a belt studded with sharp teeth inset in the worn leather. He produces what appears to be a piece of wood. His eyes soften as he looks at it.

"You're giving me a piece of wood?"

"Watch and learn, youngster." Blackthorn touches a knot on the wood. A green blade of energy unsheathes. 

Zeb notices that Blackthorn's face has taken on a wistful quality as he looks at the blade. A look that is quickly gone as his eyes track back to Ezra. He sheathes the blade and hands it to Ezra.

"Be careful with that, boy. I want it back."

Ezra Bridger takes the lightsaber with something akin to reverence. "What about you, Blackthorn?" 

For the first time, the Corellian smiles. He pulls out another blade from the back of his belt. "Got mine," He unsheathes it at the Padawan's skeptical look. A brilliant blue reveals at his command. 

Blackthorn's smile vanishes as the blade does. Ezra looks behind Blackthorn. "Rex, you got a blaster for me, as well?"

Jame turns. He expression doesn't change as Rex looks at him, his own expression blank. Jame nods and turns back to Ezra before Rex can reply. "Good to know you've expanded your horizons, kid." He reaches down to the right side of his gunbelt. He unhooks the holster and hands Ezra it and the large blaster contained within.

Zeb's eyes widen. "What is that?" Ezra says. "That is a Corellian's best friend." He hands it to Ezra. The Padawan pulls it from the holster. The DL-44 is large in the teenager's hand, but he is able to heft it with no problem.

"Be careful, boy. It has a hell of a bite, even for the one firing it."

Zeb puts his hand on Ezra's shoulder. "Kid, go find Kanan and Hera and say 'goodbye," the Lasat says. 

Ezra is enamored with the weapon. "Already did, Zeb."

"Do it again." Zeb jerks his head to the door.

Ezra suddenly realizes that he does need to be elsewhere. He walks out with another word. Zeb turns to the young Mandalorian who has watched the entire proceedings with wide eyes. Her hand has not strayed from her uncle's arm.

"Sabine, could you go with him and see that he is ready?" Zeb asks gently. 

Blackthorn feels Sabine's hand tighten on his arm. She looks to defy the Lasat. "Go, _ad'ika_. I'll be fine. We're just going to talk."

She smiles. "Uncle, Zeb doesn't know how to talk without people losing limbs or gaining brain trauma."

Zeb grins. "Don't worry, little one. I promise that he will have everything where it is supposed to be."

Sabine kisses Jame on the cheek. She walks over and gooses Zeb in the ribs as she passes him. "I'll hold you to that, big guy."

Jame looks into Zeb's yellow eyes. "So, Captain. What's on your mind?"

"Me tearing your arms off and beating you to death with the bloody stumps."

Both Jame and Rex grin. "So much for the foreplay, Zeb."

"That is if Ezra doesn't come back from Garel," the Lasat finishes.

"Well, that is up to him. If he obeys orders, we'll all come back. Unlike the last time he went off."

"I came back, Blackthorn, from Garel." Zeb's eyes track down. "I know what Ahsoka meant to you. Lassa told me about you when I met her."

"Yeah, well, sometimes she talks too goddamn much."

"I live with the boy. You can take it to the bank that I know what I am talking about. He is suffering with her loss and what he experienced."

Blackthorn looks him in the eyes. "Maybe so. But I am here to make sure that he learns from it, rather than just letting him wallow in his guilt."

Zeb nods. "Fair enough. But who is going to make sure that you are the right teacher?"

Blackthorn's anger flares. He walks up to the Lasat. The raw power from the smaller man causes Zeb to take one step back. "What the hell do you mean?" the Corellian asks.

"I've seen you stalking around here with your face looking like you are about to explode at any and everybody."

"I don't know much about this Jedi shit, Blackthorn, but I do know that anger ain't a good thing. I saw how controlled 'Soka was. I saw her let loose in a fight, but she was always under control."

He walks up to Blackthorn. He punches his finger, with the claws up so as not to lacerate the Corellian, into the man's chest, with each word. "You have to ask yourself, Blackthorn. Who are you really angry at?"

"Yourself?" His eyes soften. "Ahsoka?"

"Don't take it out on Ezra. Or even yourself, Jame." the Lasat finishes.

Blackthorn changes the subject. "I know you from somewhere, Zeb."

"Maybe. I think I would remember your ugly mug." Jame smirks. 

Rex walks over to Blackthorn. "What I want to know, is what the hell was that little episode, General?"

"What episode?" Blackthorn asks.

"The one where you were looking like you were about to tear Ezra apart," Zeb says, "then all of sudden were the biggest Loth-cat in the world. Giving him weapons and such."

"Don't know what you're talking about," the Corellian says. He looks away. 

He doesn't see the look that passes between Rex and Zeb. Rex jerks his head in the direction of the pirate ship warming up across the way. Zeb nods. 

Zeb smiles. "I think that we understand each other, King."

Both Rex and Blackthorn start as he walks out. _Hera hasn't had time to tell him that name. Neither had Sabine. A name from Blackthorn's Mandalorian past._

XXXXX

Hera eases up to Kanan as he kneels near the perimeter. She sees the smile play over his features. She reaches down and kisses him on the cheek. Her lekku move gently through his hair. His eyebrows raise over his bandage as he realizes that her pilot's cap is off.

"You trying to distract me, Spectre Two?"

He hears a slight giggle. "I don't know, Spectre One. Is it working?"

She sits next to him and leans in. "Just might, Cap. It just might be," he says.

They sit in silence, but Kanan can sense that Hera has something to say.

"What, Hera?"

"Blackthorn. Or Croft, or whatever the hell his name is. What do you know about he and Ahsoka?"

He is silent. "He and she kind of grew up together. He was her youngling clan-master. They were close because of the training that his Master insisted on for him and her on Shili."

"What kind of training?" Hera asks. 

"Training in the Hunt on Ahsoka's birthworld. His Master was Shaak Ti; one of the respected Masters on the Council." He looks down and smiles at a memory. "She and my Master were good friends."

He takes a deep breath. Hera listens raptly. "She believed in teaching younglings some of her heritage. The skills prepared the ones that received it immensely, even though some masters like Master Windu didn't see the need."

"I never got to take any of the training. The war was well on and Ti was on Kamino, overseeing the training of the clones." He smiles again. "She was a great defender of them and tried to care for them as best as possible."

"There is a story of Ahsoka's experience taking teeth in the hunt. She was twelve years old and much younger than the norm for this. Croft," he unconsciously uses the Corellian's former name, "was with her."

"All I know is, she used him as bait to draw in the apex predator of her world. He was injured, but she didn't hesitate. She carried him, using the Force and her own strength to safety."

Hera's eyes are wide. "He defended her from another hunter who was trying to claim credit for her kill. Croft and she swore some sort of oath to one another."

Kanan can sense her question. "No. They weren't close like that then. Only when she was of age. Don't know the story on that."

Hera nods. "I know that she was involved in the Rebellion early on. That Blackthorn backed her up when they....re-connected."

She sobers. "I get the idea that something happened in the last year or so. They made the choice to separate. I don't know if it was for their safety or for their sanity."

"Hera," Kanan says, "I am going to tell you something. Please don't let it color your thoughts of him."

"What is it Kanan?"

"He is convinced she is alive. He feels her in his Force-sense."

"Wishful thinking?"

He purses his lips. "I don't know. I don't think he knows himself. I know that Ezra and I can't feel her."

Hera rests her hand on his shoulder. "Well, we received some intel that has taken some time to get to us."

She takes a deep breath. "Kanan, the Empire is saying that she is dead. Or at least implying it."

"Implying, how?"

"The exact wording is that 'Lord Vader has dealt with the Jedi leadership of the Rebellion."

Kanan is silent. His face tracks to the ground. "Does Blackthorn know?"

"I don't know. He has access to the same intel."

He turns and kisses her on her cheek, resting his mouth on her. "I don't know why, but I am inclined to believe that Jame can sense her."

Hera smiles. "Me too. I want to believe, Kanan." She moves her head to his shoulder as they watch the horizon.

XXXXX

Zeb boards the sable CR-90 as the ramp is rolling up. A harried crewman points him to the galley when asked where the Captain is. He walks into the compartment, just in time to see Lassa Rhayme embrace a young woman. A young woman with a cap of blonde and brown curls.

The young woman incongruously wears a low-hanging holster under an apron. Lassa breaks the embrace gently and kisses the young woman on her forehead. The pirate says something that causes the crying woman to choke with laughter. Zeb gets a brief look at her red-rimmed eyes.

Brown eyes that looked like they would ordinarily be sparkling. Lassa spies Zeb and jerks her head to the passageway. The cook turns to her pots and pans.

Lassa grasps Zeb's hand with her own. Her bronze eyes share a look with his yellow. The Lasat raises an eyebrow at the galley. "My ship's cook. Continuing the tradition of smartass, good cooks who are deadly with weapons." She shakes her head and looks down, her own eyes glistening. "Another of Ahsoka's lost souls, who found themselves left in her wake, after she saved them."

Zeb pulls the Pantoran into an embrace. As he does, he sees the dark smudges rubbed into her blue skin under her eyes.

Pantoran symbols of mourning.

The ex-pirate pushes herself away from him. "So what are you doing, here, Garazeb?" She eyes his bandages and his arm hanging useless. "We ain't a medical ward, even though the squadron doctor is here."

"Not here for the cure, Captain. I'm here to provide the muscle in case your Commodore goes insane and needs his nappies changed."

Lassa laughs briefly, something that she doesn't appear to have done much of in the last month. "It'll be good to have you, Zeb. Might be good for comic relief."

"How are you doing, Lassa?"

Lassa's eyes darken. "I'm fine. We're holding it together."

His eyes sharpen. "I know that 'we' are, woman. How are 'you' doing was the fucking question."

"Can't think about it, Zeb. I have a war to fight and a crew to hold together. Not to mention a heart-bond who is hurting as much as that young woman was in my galley."

"Someday soon, you are going to have to talk about it. You're going to have to let it out, Lassa."

"Nope. Not in the job description for 'Rebel Captain.' And quit trying to headshrink me, Captain. Don't recall that being in the job description of a Lasat Honor Guardsman."

She smirks at him. "Plus, I sleep with an empath and a headshrinker with the degrees to back it up. I'll take her therapy over yours, any day, big guy."

"Don't knock what you haven't tried. Once you've tried a little fur, you'll never go back."

Lassa is soon able to catch her breath, after a very large Lasat pounds on her back.

They continue to the bridge. "Coordinates set, Captain," the navigator says. 

"Jump," Lassa says simply. 

Zeb pulls himself slightly closer to the Pantoran as the chaos of hyperspace replaces the pinpricks of stars.

XXXXX

Ezra Bridger stands with his hands on his hips as he looks at a battered assault shuttle. A shuttle commissioned before he was born.

A shuttle that appears to be made of mismatched parts of varying colors.

One part of the old ship is well-cared for. A piece of nose art decorates the side. A Mando warrior, noticeable for a slight feminine figure and armor similar to Sabine's leans on a deadly looking curved blade. A large hammer is in her opposite hand, with a blaster comfortably settled on her hips.

A sign in Mandalorian script curves over the art. _The Laughing Bes'kad_ , the script reads.

The _Bes'kad._ The ancient sword of Mandalorian iron. A deadly weapon in the hands of a master.

The figure depicted in the art shows every sign of being extremely comfortable with the blade.

"My aunt," comes the voice of his friend. A friend now clad in her _beskar'gam,_ complete with her bucket. "Joh'lana Wren. Or more properly, J'ohlana Wren-Blackthorn."

Ezra's eyes narrow. "What happened to her? That's what makes Blackthorn your uncle?"

"Yep. Even though he wasn't known by that name, then." She smiles sadly. "Only to her."

"Everybody else called him King."

"Why? As if he wasn't already full of himself."

"Hush, little man. It's short for the Storm-King. Or in _Mando'a, Buurenaar-Alor._ "

She looks him in the eye. "He apparently had a propensity for picking fights with multiple opponents. Usually coming out on top."

"Aw, come one. I don't believe that."

She smirks. "He fought four very large brothers of that woman on the side of this ship for her hand. As you can see, he won." Her laughter bubbles up through the bucket's vocoder. "She was the only one who could beat him."

"You didn't answer, Sabine. What happened to J'ohlana?"

She takes her bucket off. Her eyes look at the dusty ground. "She died. Along with his unborn son."

She doesn't volunteer anything else as Ezra absorbs this, his brows knitting together. He looks up at her. "Seems like people have a tendency to die around him."

"You might want to keep that sentiment to yourself, little man," a new voice says. "It might get you hurt."

Ezra and Sabine turn and start as they see the tall Togruta male walk up to the ship. He is clad in standard Rebel commando gear with certain modifications. An Imperial rifle is slung over his shoulder.

Two large knives are on each hip. His violet eyes are hard at Ezra.

Sabine rolls her eyes as Ezra bristles. _Of course he does._ The commando, _no, the hunter; he can't be anything else;_ folds his arms and waits.

Sabine shoves Ezra to the entry ramp in the nose of the ship. "Ezra, shut up. You had no right to say what you just did. When will you fucking learn?"

Ezra looks down. He looks back up at the Togruta. "I am sorry. I was out of line. Blackthorn is just not one of my favorite people, right now."

The Togruta looks at him, as he would a particularly tasty _themiar_ of his world. "You would do well to remember, little Jedi, that my hunt-father was fighting darkness when you were not even a gleam in your father's eye." He looks down at the ground himself. "I will forgive you. I know that we are all hurting right now." He nods at Ezra, who boards the ship.

Sabine looks at the hunter. "I am sorry. Sorry for your loss. Were you and Ahsoka close?"

The Togruta suddenly looks younger. "Yes. She and Blackthorn took me on my first training hunts. I learned much from them both."

She holds out her hand. "I'm Sabine. Sabine Wren." He takes it and smiles. "I am Cubreem."

"Well, now, that everyone is acquainted, how about we get this show on the road," comes a drawl.

Jame Blackthorn and Rex stand there. They are both clad in civilian clothes with weapons hidden.

"So who's driving, Uncle?"

"Well, technically, 'bine, she belongs to you as a blood member of Clan Wren. You drive." He grins. "Try to keep her under point three."

"No promises, Uncle." She bounds up the ramp.

Rex turns to Blackthorn. "Well, General, I'll be up in the back seat."

A thunderous expression flows onto the ex-Jedi's features. "Like hell you will."

Rex's feet plant on the dusty ground. "I have it on good authority that you haven't slept or eaten in days. Your medical officer and Commander Faygan have instructed me to use force if necessary to get you to sleep."

"So get your ass into the berth." He folds his arms.

"I can tell that you spent time around Ahsoka. She taught you to get the last word, didn't she?"

"Nope. I taught her."


	8. Ezra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Understanding is reached under fire.

Ezra moves gingerly into the cabin of the _Nu_ from the aft compartment. He had decided to travel in the tiny, cramped closed rather than face the obvious love from the two inhabitants of the main hold.

He sighs. The small ship was oppressive with its ghosts and shades. He feels a pair of violet eyes on him as he walks out.

Thankfully the piercing green gaze of the older of the compartment's residents is covered in sleep.

He steels himself and looks up. Cubreem looks at him curiously from his position in a chair by the single bunk. After a moment; the commando nods at him. Ezra raises his eyebrows. There is no hostility in the look. 

_They all pity you, my apprentice._ He squeezes his eyes tightly shut against the hypnotic voice. When he opens them, Cubreem is still looking at him, but there is no pity in the look. Ezra starts in surprise.

There is only concern. 

A low moan from the bunk draws Cubreem's attention. Blackthorn lies under a blanket. Ezra can see that the older hunter's eyes are moving beneath the lids, as his head begins to toss back and forth.

A single word issues from his lips. One that builds another layer to the enigma that is the ex-Jedi. A word that sounds like a condescending nickname; but one that even Ezra can at once feel the love and respect underlying the snark.

_Runt._

Ezra sees Cubreem place his hand on the scarred forehead of the Corellian. After a moment, Blackthorn's face stills and he rests.

Ezra Bridger wants to turn around and walk back to his tiny closet. Every fiber of his being cries for it as he heard the pain and anguish in that one word.

He doesn't. He wills the voice of the red and black skinned monster to the back of his mind.

Just as he had willed the voice of the unknown from the Sith Holocron to retreat.

For now.

XXXXX

Jame feels himself crawling back to consciousness. _Well, still alive, I see,_ he thinks ruefully.

He shakes his head as a sensation of a tiny blue-orange light in his head takes action.

Delivering the equivalent of a sharp slap to the back of his head. He opens his eyes.

Ezra Bridger looks down at him from the chair.

"I must've died already," Blackthorn says. 

A familiar smirk crosses the boy's face. "We could only be so lucky."

Ezra lifts a fragrant cup from below Blackthorn's vision and hands it to him. Blackthorn sits up and takes the cup gratefully. 

"Somebody put a pricey caf maker in this mismatched piece of flying poodoo."

"Yeah, well, most of the women in my life cannot be spoken to until they have had their morning caf," the Corellian says. He smiles. "So how did you get stuck with babysitting duty?"

"Didn't know I was. Cubreem wanted to fly a bit. The seat was empty."

Blackthorn snorts. "I don't believe it. Everybody on my crew seems to be conspiring against me as they walk around on eggshells."

The young Padawan rolls his eyes. "Maybe if you weren't walking around either looking like you are safety-wired in the pissed-off position or about to cry, they wouldn't be."

Blackthorn doesn't say anything. _So who taught him those words?_ He sips his caf; nods approvingly. For an instant, Ezra actually cares if he has overstepped again.

Their silence is broken by a questioning beep as a strange droid rolls into the room from another closet. Jame's eyes light up in surprise. "Arseven! What are you doing here?"

+ _Somebody has to look after you._ +

Another beep is added to the statement. Ezra's eyes widen. "Did he just call you a dumbass?"

Jame smiles. "Probably. That is one of his pet names for me. Some can't be spoken in polite company." That look of the past welling up comes into his eyes. Just as quickly, it is gone. "There's one that he has; I have trouble translating." A smirk flows slowly across his features. "It either means 'god-who-walks-among-us' or 'shithead.' My binary is not as good as it used to be."

A raspberry-like sound indicates the proper translation. "Damn Jedi astromechs," the hunter says. "Always too big for their britches."

"He's a Jedi droid?" Ezra asks. 

"Yep. He was assigned to Ahsoka in the war. Somehow, they managed to find each other in all of this shit."

Ezra looks down. After a moment, hee looks up at Blackthorn. "Commodore, I...."

"Not now. We'll talk. I'll try to make it less loud," Blackthorn says.

Ezra looks as if he wants to say more, but doesn't.

They sit in silence, each with their own dark thoughts. As well as thoughts of past light.

They look up as Rex jumps down from the cockpit. "Coming up on Garel, General. It's time.

XXXXX

The small band stands at the ramp, checking weapons and going over the plan.

The plan other than 'open fire if you see bucketheads, get the thing, and get back to the ship as fast as possible.'

Ezra is unsure if Blackthorn's plan comes from his Corellian part or the Mandalorian part of his heritage.

Jame looks at Sabine. "Sabine, I need you and Rex to take the long way around and meet Junior here and I at the lockers. Be ready for a change in plans."

The young Mando and the old Mando-copy nod. "I can't tell who comes up with the crazier-ass plans.You or the Commander," Rex says.

Jame smiles crookedly at that. "She taught me everything that I know about planning."

Ezra looks at Jame. "Where is Cubreem?" he asks.

Rex smiles and answers for him. "Sometimes it's better not knowing where a Togruta hunter is when he is looking out for you."

"Any other questions?" Jame asks. He takes in all of them with a glance. "I appreciate all of you coming to help find this thing. There are two people in our squadron who will hopefully learn more about family." He looks down as memories build. "We all know how important family is right now."

He turns and exits the ramp, unable to look at them anymore. Ezra's eyes watch him as he disappears from view, his eyes thoughtful.

XXXXX

There is little conversation on the route to the locker farm. Blackthorn has the key to the locker; or at least the original. The techs at the base had made copies for each of them, including one for Arseven, now stewing back at the ship.

Both the Corellian and Ezra wear light ponchos; their hoods up. Jame had seen the wanted flyers for the young Padawan, he didn't know if the residents of Garel cared enough to turn anyone in. His one visit, over a decade and a half ago, had convinced him that they were mainly concerned with minding their own business.

 _Of course, his thoughts had been on other things._ Completing his mission for the Jedi, herding a disparate group of pirates into working for the Republic - including the one who waits several light years away, as she always had, to pull everyone's _shebs_ from the fire.

That and trying to figure out why a pair of depthless blue eyes were looking at him differently. Of why those eyes were affecting him in different ways than before; when they had usually made him either laugh or bang his head against the nearest hard surface in frustration.

A glimpse of those eyes looking down at him with a mischievous gleam and a sensation of cool skin against his flows into his mind's eye.

He angrily shakes his head to dispel the memories.

Ezra surreptitiously watches him; watches the struggle on his features. As they walk deeper into the city surrounding the spaceport, the older man's shields open ever so slightly. Ezra's mind is filled with images of laughter, of slight danger, and tears as his mind watches emotions and sensations unfold.

A part of him is fascinated by the emotions, of watching two warriors of a bygone time connect with each other. Of watching these skilled users of the Force, who he has only been in awe of, stumble and flail at the new emotions.

Of course, some of the other images he could do without, or at least the miniscule part of his brain that is not still ruled by teenaged hormones. _No one should see a respected mentor doing some of those things._ He smiles. _Although, it gives me a better look at the whole person that she was. Not just the serene teacher with occasional tiny glimpses of joy and humor._ He reaches over and touches Blackthorn on the arm. The older man breaks out of his memories. Ezra taps his own temple. He feels the memories recede.

"Sorry," Jame says. Ezra smiles at the warmth that remains in the Force. A tiny reminder of light and comfort. His face falls. _Of loss_.

With a start, he realizes that they are at their destination. _Good. The quicker we can get this thing and get off of here; the less chance of our fearless leader totally losing his marbles and me having to carry his bawling ass back to the ship._

 _It would be my honor, though, Master,_ he thinks to himself.

XXXXX

Blackthorn walks into locker-for-hire room. He glances over and sees Rex and his niece arrive simultaneously. They nod and begin to scan the room. He looks at Ezra. "You have the number, son. Let's get to it." His eyes take on a sly cast. "Before I lose my marbles and you have to be the hero."

Ezra closes his eyes. _Damned broken-down, half-assed Jedi._

XXXXX

A figure watches the four approach the locker. His trunk twitches in anticipation as he thinks of the payday for these four. He had been watching the locker at the behest of the longneck for four rotations. He picks up his comlink and speaks a word into it in. The word is scarcely out of his mouth before an orange hand draws a large knife across his throat.

The word was scarcely out, but it was out.

The young Togruta with the violet eyes of a foretold master hunter grimaces as he shoves the still-twitching corpse into a large conduit. _Guess Cassian has rubbed off on me more than he should,_ he thinks ruefully. 

_No. No one endangers my clan._ He pockets the Imperial-model comm and starts his climb back to the rooftop. In the back of his mind, he sees the blue eyes of his hunt-mother looking at him sadly.

XXXXX

Four sets of eyes look disbelievingly at the empty locker. Empty except for trash and detritus. Blackthorn's eyes fall as his mind wraps around the possibility of what he has led his family, both known and now claimed into.

_For what? For you grasping at some sort of meaning for Ahsoka's death? For your own trying to pull some light from it, so that you can assuage your own guilt and anger?_

_For the fact that you can't let her go. That you can't let her rest._

He hears a tiny voice in his mind. _Who the hell said it was time for me to rest, Bait?_ The words, spoken in a light, loved voice, is accompanied by a familiar blue and orange brightness. 

As well as the sensation of a slap to his head. Again.

The voice's next words cut through him. Words from another of his past.

_Find the good and do it, Bait._

He looks into the locker. A small piece of paper catches his eye among the trash. A paper that is folded rather than crumpled.

He picks the piece of paper up and opens it. 

His companions see a wistful smile quirk his lips.

He is transported back in time and space as he sees the familiar markings on the outside. The familiar matter-of-fact, blocky, but strangely beautiful handwriting. Handwriting that is sending him a message. He reads the Aurabesh script.

_Of all the comrades that e'er I had,_  
_They are sorry for my going away,_  
_And all the sweethearts that e'er I had,_  
_They would wish me one more day to stay,_  
_But since it falls unto my lot,_  
_That I should rise and you should not,_  
_Good night and joy be with you all._

He closes his eyes, ignoring the stares of his companions.

His skin feels a cool sensation as his mind's eye travels to a familiar galley. A young huntress' strong arms about his body. The touch of her lips tentatively to his as they both give way to the new feelings. Her tongue gently duels with his as he hears a beautiful melody being sung in the clear, accented soprano of a Twi'lek ship's navigator in duet with the deeper tones of her twin from the mess outside the room. Of another clear voice; of a familiar alto joining in. The alto of a warm, loving Zeltron - undercover as another crewmember.

The words of an old Corellan song of farewell.

Of another image rising in his mind. Of that same huntress in the night. Her gasps as she builds to her finish, her eyes staring into his own with abandon as she looks down her body at him. He matches her look as his mouth plays over her center while she rests against a loving Pantoran pirate. A woman who had gently pushed them both to act on their feelings. A Pantoran humming this same tune as she holds them both afterwards.

He doesn't shake the memories away. He looks at his companions. He makes his decision. "This is where y'all get off of the crazy train. I know where the data is. I think that we won't be able to all get there with all of the Imps around."

He can see the protests building on the three faces. Except for Rex's. The clone looks down with his eyes closed.

As if already speaking another litany.

"No, uncle," Sabine says quietly. "We're in this together."

"Not this time, beautiful girl," Jame says. He pushes a button on his comm. "Y'all get to the rendezvous point outside of town. Lassa will pick you up there."

He looks at them. His eyes filled with.....something. "This isn't your fight. It's mine. The Rebellion will benefit from what I find, but this is mainly for my family."

He holds up the paper. "Touchstone was only the conduit. This message, and this information is from Ahsoka. It was meant for me to find. Not any of you."

He feels Ezra's anger grow. "What is this, old man? Some sort of half-assed desire to martyr yourself and join Ahsoka in the Force? So that you don't have to live with the pain?"

Blackthorn says nothing for a moment. "I don't know, Ezra. I don't think so. But this information has to be gotten to my squadron. I stand a better chance of getting it and transmitting it to you so that we double the chances of actually getting it to them."

He turns to Rex. "Get them out of here, Captain. That is an order. Make sure that you collect Sergeant Maashu-Ry."

"No."

Blackthorn's eyes narrow. "What did you say?" His voice is sharp with ice.

"You heard me. Not inclined to obey your orders. Especially when they are issued from your head firmly planted in your ass."

Sabine puts her hand on Blackthorn's arm. He shakes it off, gently. "Explain yourself."

Rex doesn't back down. "I am not leaving my Jedi behind. It goes against everything I stand for and...," he pauses as if gathering himself, "what I was bred for. Think, Croft," he says, unconsciously using a name from the past, "we stand a better chance of getting that info out if we work together."

"Rex is right, Uncle," Sabine says. He can see the tactical servos turning in her mind. _Her brilliant mind,_ he thinks with pride. "We can create a diversion and draw the bucketheads and the Fleeties away from you while you go do whatever it is you do. You can then draw them away from us. We'll meet up with Lassa. You can get out on the _Bes'kad._ " She smirks. His heart jumps at that look - a look he has seen on many others. "As the owner of that ship; I can't let you leave it behind."

Ezra chimes in. "All good, but I am going with the geriatric, here," he says, jerking his thumb at Blackthorn. "You will need somebody to help you dodder through this."

"One of these days, infant, I will show you just how decrepit I am." He suddenly realizes that he has turned into his Master.

He looks at them and shakes his head. He sighs. "Make sure you let Cubreem know what the hell is going on." He jerks his head. "Come on, Junior. Let's go do some good." He ignores the predator's bright smile in his head.

XXXXX

Docking Bay 76-Heavy. His eyes close.

Blackthorn sees in his mind's eye, a black CR-90 with red trim sitting in the middle of the empty bay. A ship that is now winding its way through hyperspace. For their family.

_Okay, genius. You're at the place she wanted you. Now what?_

His eyes come back to the present. Ezra looks at him. The boy smiles. "I never thought that Ahsoka had such feelings for anyone, Master." His eyebrows raise at the title. The Padawan plunges forward. "I can see the feelings when you let your shields down," he says.

"Don't worry. I close my eyes tight when it gets to the naughty bits," the apprentice says with a cheeky grin. He ducks the cuff aimed at the back of his head.

They walk further into the docking bay. Blackthorn searches his mind for the next step. _Come on, cyare. Tell me what you want me to do. You were always smarter than me._

He steps into the space where the _Opportunity_ had been docked.

He feels his comm activate. He looks down at it. A holo projects above it. A holo taken long ago on the shore of an ancient lake on a lush green world. Of a huntress dripping wet from their swim, her face lit by a Smirk as he had snapped the holo.

Ezra's blue eyes widen. Blackthorn hastily moves the holo out of view. He looks at the display that it changes to. A progress bar is moving towards its end.

As data downloads from that nude huntress' own comm and the Holonet. He smiles as his eyes track downward. _Yep. So much smarter than me._

Ezra is smiling at him again. The boy's eyes glisten as they watch the progress.

They both look up as explosions reverberate through the city. "Well, I guess Sabine is happy. She gets to blow things up," Ezra says.

For a moment, Blackthorn smiles at a memory. "Hope she gives more warning than her aunt did. I still have many scars from that woman's idea of a warning."

"No scars, but a lot of ringing ears," the Lothali says. "Must be an improvement over the generations."

The progress bar finishes. Blackthorn smiles as he hears the particular whine of a certain corvette's engines as it flies over the city.

Headed to the outskirts of this city. He smiles as he hears another whine. A whine of turbolasers sending Lassa's greetings to various Imperial vehicles in the city. Being particularly careful of any other non-Imperials in the area.

 _Damned soft-hearted pirate,_ he thinks fondly. 

He stops as he feels Ezra draw up next to him. He feels the boy's Force sense through his own fractured link.

A very tall being stands there, blocking the entrance. Or a medium-sized being with an extremely long neck and tiny head. He curses silently as he watches the Kaminoan eye them with his nerf-like eyes. Blackthorn's own eyes track down.

The Kaminoan is dressed all in black. In a form-fitting garment with the Imperial cog on each shoulder. _Great. Not only is the big bad one of the few races that I absolutely despise most members of; he is an Inquisitor to boot._

"Hello, little Jedi," the creature says, looking at Ezra. "I see that you have brought a friend."

The Kaminoan, a member of a race who had created and enslaved millions of his brothers, gives what passes for a smile. "Don't worry Ezra Bridger. I will grant you both a quick death. Maybe quicker than what my Master gave the Togruta woman."

Ezra can feel Blackthorn's anger rise. He places his hand on the older man's arm. "Don't, Jame. There is no reason to believe that he knows what happened to Ahsoka. He is trying to get a rise out of us."

He smiles confidently up at Jame. "I have faced these things before. They have some Force sense, but very little skill. At least against someone who was a full-fledged Knight and Temple-trained."

He reaches up and touches the older man's cheek in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. "I watched your love wipe the floor with two of them." He watches Blackthorn's eyes sharpen.

"We'll take him together," he says as he sees the Inquisitor reach behind him with a flourish to take his spin-ny saber from its holster on his back. He ignites the borrowed saber.

And watches the Imperial crumple to the floor as a bolt strikes the Kaminoan between the eyes.

His eyes widen. He had not even seen the blaster appear in the Corellian's hands from its shoulder holster. Nor return to the holster.

"Or we could just shoot him before he can draw his saber," the boy says. "Not exactly the Jedi way, Master Croft." Blackthorn doesn't correct him.

"Well, to paraphrase a wise and beautiful huntress," he says. "Not a Jedi."

They look up as the _Opportunity_ rises. Blackthorn grins. "Let's go, youngster. Our ride is waiting."

"Halt!" comes a modulated voice. Five stormtroopers stand behind the crumpled body of the Inquisitor. "Do you think that you could use some of that fancy blasterwork with these fuckers?" Ezra asks.

"Watch your mouth, kid." Ezra watches the older man's brain wrestle with the issue. He can see his hands twitching, wanting to grab the two blasters under his arms and live up to his heritage.

Both of them.

He is saved by someone else's choice. A choice from another of his claimed heritages.

Ezra looks at the five troopers on the deck. A neat smoking hole in the forehead and rear of their helmets. Smoke matched from the muzzle of an Imperial rifle casually resting on the strong shoulders of a young Togruta walking up to them.

Blackthorn walks up to him. The hunter slings his rifle and pulls his hunt-father to him. Ezra smiles at the moment. Blackthorn breaks away and ignites his saber in a reverse grip. Ezra yells "No!" as the ex-Jedi plunges his saber into the bucket of the nearest stormtrooper.

He ignores Ezra as he mimics the movement on the other four troopers. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you mutilating them?"

Jame smiles softly. "Watch and learn, pup," he says gently. "The hard drive for the helmet-cam is near the right eye. Better a bit of a burn on his corpse than you standing against a wall waiting for them to end you."

"Oh." is all the young man can say. "You have to do it quickly, before it can upload," the man once known as the Storm-King continues. He closes his eyes. "Our ride's here. Let's go."

Ezra hears a sniggering beep over the laboring engines from the past. As he moves towards the shuttle, the far wall of the docking bay explodes.

XXXXX

Garazeb Orrelios looks at the sensor repeater over the shoulder of a Pantoran seated in the pilot's chair. He sees the explosions blossom in the area of the Old City's spaceport. Several walkers converge on the area. He catches Lassa's eyes. He nods with understanding. 

Sabine and Rex rush onto the bridge. Just in time to see Lassa push the hyperspace lever forward.

"No, dammit! We have to go back for them!" the young Mandalorian yells. She starts to pull a Westar. Rex put his strong hand on hers. "No, Sabine. We have to trust our Jedi," he says quietly.

"But the information. We can't let them die for nothing."

"Your uncle transmitted it to my comm. We have what Ahsoka wanted them to know."

She slumps. Rex folds her into his arms. "Never give up hope, 'bine," he says quietly. "It's what keeps your Uncle going."

Lassa Rhayme watches as Zeb walks over and pulls them both into his large arms. She looks across as her ship's cook lifts her Captain's hand off of the throttle and folds it into her own. Her eyes are free of tears. There is only one emotion reflected in those sparkling brown eyes.

Hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics that Ahsoka left for Blackthorn are from the Parting Glass. Apparently certain Twi'lek navigators and Zeltron security officers sound like Emily Kenney and Lauren Cohan when they sing.


	9. Ahsoka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connections are made. A tenuous grip...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Merfilly for use of a certain phrase from her excellent fic, Claims Made

Ahsoka Tano opens her eyes. Every muscle, every joint, every nerve ending screams in pain. Her eyelids even hurt as they clear her eyes.

She tries to move her head; manages to move it to take in her surroundings.

She can see nothing for the darkness. Even her preternatural eyesight and hearing will not penetrate the darkness and the silence.

She lies back. She busies herself wondering if she is alive.

_Would it hurt this bad if I was dead?_

She feels tears flow down her cheeks.

Tears for the man who raised her. The man who helped teach her to be a person. A man who loved too much; loved until it twisted him.

She sees the baleful yellow eye staring at her in anger as he swings his lightsaber, intent on ending her.

She remembers the feelings of guilt and pain as she heard him call her name. In his own voice. The feelings of love for her master.

The feeling that she would die at his hands as she tried to reach through the anger and hatred.

She remembers the explosion that tossed her away like a tooka doll.

As she flew through the air, she thinks of another man. A man who molded her so that her master could shape her.

A man who she had also molded, as much as the serene and passionate older huntress had shaped him.

A man who had touched her heart and her soul.

She remembers how she had struck a solid mass. Of managing to climb to her feet.

Of not being able to sense anything of the Force.

Ahsoka Tano feels nothing for the first time since she could think. Only something of an impenetrable light. A light that surrounds her. She looks up. A small green and white bird circles her.

And then the bird dives towards her. She ducks as the bird misses her.

_Follow me, child._

She shakes her head. _Must've hit my head pretty hard._

She sighs as she turns in the opposite direction. She can see nothing in that direction. She turns back to the bird. She sees a triangle-shaped opening; its outline just visible. The bird, _a convor,_ she remembers, beckons to her again. In her foggy senses, she feels as if she should know the bird; that she knows it.

She begins to walk. To walk towards the opening. She vaguely remembers already walking through several openings after the explosion. The opening grows larger in her vision as the bird dips into it. She stops and takes a deep breath.

The first step is behind her. As she limps down into the further darkness, she feels it surround her. The feeling of the darkness is tangible.

But a tiny light surrounds her, keeping the oppressive darkness at bay.

Until she can walk no more.

As her senses return to her; along with the intense pain, she sees the face of the hunter.

The man-before-her-Master. _What was the term?_ Her senses may have returned, but her brains don't feel they are unscrambled from the fight and the onslaught of darkness.

Her hunt-brother. She sees glimpses of warm green and gold light.

With tiny touches of purple. The colors that had always denoted the hunter in her Force-sense, when he could touch it. Colors that are now overlaid with a slightly different tint of green and gold.

Her eyes close as the pain recedes. Within that light she catches glimpses of other faces. Familiar faces that she has seen before when she was drifting in that space between the living and cosmic Force. A warm Kel Dor lifting her small-self to his shoulder. That serene older huntress; her violet eyes swelling with pride as she and her hunt-brother overcame some challenge. A brilliant mind of a negotiator, cloaked in sarcasm and a cultured Coruscanti accent. A warm Naboo Queen and Senator, her arms around her in sisterly affection; while hiding her own pain and secret.

A surge of pain as she feels warm olive skin under her lips as depthless blue eyes that mirror her own flash with anger and vitriol.

She can sense other faces in her mind. More recent faces than when she drifted in bacta between life and death. When she had thought that her world had ended and she wasn't even sure she could trust her own contacts or her instincts.

A powerful Pantoran pirate, who had taken her in once before. Who had unstintingly come to her aid again when she had done something stupid. A criminal who was reeling from her own losses from the war and Order 66. A woman who proved herself as loving and giving as any in the galaxy.

A beautiful Zeltron, filled with laughter and love and warmth as she gives so much of herself for her loved ones, while hiding her own pain. One of those who that atypical pirate had given herself to. The Zeltron's father, a powerful man in his own right; who could shake worlds with his power and his bluster, but would move and conquer those worlds when his loved ones were in danger. The tiny slicer who would put a camera in her shower, then work for weeks on end without sleep or food to save her or his 'little brother' - the hunter.

Other faces flash through the light. A young Alderaani; her sparkling eyes giving a warrior a sense of normalcy in the midst of galactic upheaval. New faces. A loving, protective Twi'lek pilot and her family of rebels.They each flash in her mind. Her two 'baby Jedi.' The proud Mandalorian warrior who could capture her essence in a sketch, and then dismantle an Imperial base as she exorcises her own Imperial demons. A towering mass of muscle and and sarcasm with surprising depth and his own pain. Three protective, aggressive astromechs, past and present, each with their own unique personality.

People who had taught her to trust again. Something she had to learn even when she had been brought to the Temple. Less than a dozen still alive in a galaxy of trillions.

People whose lives she had touched.

As she lies on the cold stone floor; her demons and angels passing through her mind's eye; the pain swells as she contemplates giving into it. Of resting.

The comforting lights remain constant around her. Especially the bright green and gold.

The purple touches swell with another's pain and loss.

As it does, she feels a presence. An unknown, yet somehow familiar light that she instinctively feels is not hers. One that has touched her before; briefly; when she was searching for the hunter that pervades her consciousness. When she wasn't sure if he was still alive.

She looks up at the bird. It sits there above her; as if floating on a perch in the darkness.

The huntress starts as the presence at the edge of her consciousness gives a bright laugh. The smile can be felt through the darkness.

_So, darlin.' You just gonna lay there on your cute little ass and let everyone else do all the work?_

XXXXX

Hera looks out over the flats as she waits for her family. The family that has been hers, as well as a new one. The _Opportunity_ had checked in; she would be at the outer markers within the hour.

There had been no word of who had survived.

She looks down. There is no one that she can share this with. Kanan is meditating; his wounds and his loss still raw. She smiles as she thinks of the spark that she had felt from him after his conversation with the older warrior.

Of the calmness that so ever briefly had inundated her sense of her Jedi, as well as Blackthorn.

She smiles as she thinks of the Corellian. The love for his family that flowed from him in everything he did and said.

She remembered what someone from his crew had called him. Jamelyn, the Elector-Presumptive had referred to him as her 'Covenant.' Hera had asked the young woman what she had meant. Jamelyn had smiled fondly and explained the meaning of the word to the Five Brothers of Corellia. To her. To a powerful huntress and warrior.

_Protector._

A word that could be applied to that huntress as well. When Hera had said this, Jamelyn's smile had grown. _There can always be more than one,_ she had said cryptically. _Especially one who protects the Covenant, as they protect the Five Brothers._

Hera smiles as she feels a powerful warmth move through her body. Daaineran Faygan walks up to her and stands next to her. The Zeltron commander takes her hand in hers.

Unaccountably Hera reaches up and kisses the crimson skin of Dani's cheek. The pilot's eyes widen as she watches the purple eyes of the woman morph into a deeper purple and then to the deepest black.

Hera looks down; her skin coloring. _Come on, Syndulla. You're an adult. Act like it._

She feels laughter bubbling up from the woman standing next to her. Laughter that is as much a part of the woman as the tiny lines around her eyes.

"Don't worry, sweetie. Your virtue is safe, if you like. Besides," she says with an arch look, "I get the idea that you have been rocking a certain Jedi's universe for the last few hours."

Dani's smile widens as she sees the emerald hue of Hera's face deepen. "Don't." she says to the pilot, placing her fingers against her lips, "Grab the light where you can, love."

They return their gaze over the horizon. "Doesn't get any easier, does it?" Hera remarks.

Dani shakes her head. "Nope. Been doing it for nearly twenty years. A little less for that pirate on that old ship." Something crosses over her face. "I watched his Master wait for him to return as well. And he for her." She smiles wistfully. "Did some waiting for her, myself."

She looks Hera in the eye. "He's done some waiting and watching for me, as well. Just like Ahsoka did for me." She watches as Hera's smile grows just as wistful. "Pretty sure some of these folks have done some watching and waiting for you, as well, Heras'yndulla. Especially that tall drink of water who makes your loins flip and your lekku twitch when you speak of him."

Hera tries to keep her face from flushing again at the Zeltron's blunt words. She almost succeeds. "Don't worry, sweetie. Know a little bit about lekku language. At least a slightly different dialect. Made'em twitch a time or two."

Dani looks down, then at the horizon. "I'll keep watching for her," she whispers, almost inaudibly. Her eyes close against the tears.

They look up as a sonic boom shatters the calm. "Looks like some of our watch is over," Hera says.

Dani smiles slightly. "Yep. Look closer. That isn't _Opportunity._ "

It is Hera's turn to hold the older woman against her chest as tears darken the front of her flightsuit. As she rubs Dani's back, she sees Kanan walk towards her, his hand on a steadily complaining astromech's dome. A smile on his face.

XXXXX

Rex and the two Spectres disembark from _Opportunity._ Their eyes are downcast until they see the old Republic shuttle sitting in its proper place near the _Sloane._

Sabine breaks away from Zeb and Rex and runs towards it. They watch as she is stopped by the tall Togruta hunter. The ramp is up. As the two older warriors walk up; they can hear the young Mando entreating Cubreem.

".....come on, dammit. Let me past. I want to see them."  

Cubreem smiles gently. "Trust me, little armored _Akul._ They are fine. A little bruised. But my hunt-father forbade anyone from entering. They have some things to talk about."

"Yeah, but..."

Cubreem holds up his hand from cleaning his rifle. "Trust them both, Sabine. They have survived everything. They will survive conversation."

Sabine looks down and then at her larger counterparts. They shake their heads and then turn and walk off.

Sabine looks at the young commando. She notices his eyes smiling at her. "What?" she says, her own eyes narrowed.

"Just thinking how wonderful it would be if a beautiful, dangerous warrior could maybe keep a valiant Rebel commando company while he prepares for the next battle. Especially if there might be adult beverages of the Mando variety around somewhere."

Those dark eyes roll, but sparkle. "Are you sure that you aren't a blood relative of Jame Blackthorn? Because you are almost as full of shit as my family stories say he is."

"I take that as a high compliment from a fellow warrior, Little Wren," Cubreem says. Sabine's eyes tear for a moment as she remembers that endearment from Cubreem's hunt-mother, as they held each other against the dark.

She shakes her head. _She would want you to remember the light that was shared._

Sabine smiles at the hunter. _He does have nice eyes._

XXXXX

Ezra watches as the older warrior strips his shirt off, being careful to not disturb the small piece of metal sticking out of his right shoulder. The Padawan sighs as he sees the mass of scar tissue that is Blackthorn's shoulder on that side. The entire area looks as if it had been caught between two gears.

The current piece of hardware sticks out from the exact center of the mass of ruined tissue.

A piece of hardware gained pushing Ezra out of the way.

Ezra steels himself and takes up the bacta patch. He is careful not to disturb the metal; as the medical officer of Blackthorn's squadron is testy about things being taken out without his say-so.

He finishes cleaning the wound. He is trying to figure out what to do with the excess metal when the ex-Jedi brings up his lightsaber. A tiny, thin beam projects at the touch of the actuator. Without a word, he cuts off the piece flush with his skin. Jame deactivates his saber and jerks his head. Ezra places the bacta pad over the wound.

The young Lothali helps the older man pull his uniform shirt back over his head. The Corellian lays back against the bulkhead. He and Ezra sit in silence for a moment. They each sense the other has something to say.

Blackthorn sighs. Ezra speaks first. "Say what you need to say, Master. I know that I screwed up." He chokes. "I know that I cost you Ahsoka."

He sees Jame's eyes begin to water. The older man's face grows thunderous. Ezra prepares for the onslaught.

Then, as if a switched had been flipped, Jame closes his eyes. He pulls himself up to his knees. He places his Master's lightsaber in front of him.

Ezra feels a new presence in his Force sense, as Blackthorn opens himself up fully. He feels the presence sputter, then burn bright in his Force sense. Blackthorn, the Jedi once known as Taliesin Croft, says nothing.

Ezra nods and pulls himself up to his own knees. He lays the borrowed saber in front of him and places his hands on his thighs. He closes his eyes; extending his connection to the energy field to the hunter.

A flash of light intrudes into his mind's eye. A flash of green and blue. A deep primal smell. A smell of ancient, wet vegetation. A breeze ruffles his skin. He looks out over an ancient lake.

Ezra sees a figure standing on the shore of the lake, her bare feet in the shallows. Ahsoka's rear lek twitches in a gentle vibration. The huntress is clad only in her customary gray sleeveless tunic. Her leggings, boots, armor, and sleeves are nowhere to be found. The teenaged boy's eyes grow wide at the heretofore unseen white markings on her forearms.

He feels the hunter's heartbeat rise as she turns. The hunter's mind's eye anticipates the look of joy that usually greets him.

 _Especially after nearly a year's absence,_ someone thinks.

But the look that she gives him is not that look of welcome joy. Her beautiful features are sad, her blue eyes welling. Her face filled with pain and fear. Blackthorn/Ezra reaches out to her mind. That bright, compassionate mind that is always open to him, is filled with fear. A part of it is blocked and shielded from his own mind.

Ezra can feel Blackthorn's shock and his own fear and anger. Ezra hears them speak.

"What the hell, Runt? Why are you shielding? he says.

Only Ezra sees the brief glimpse of an almost-familiar presence in a TIE fighter. A TIE fighter that had ravaged their little squadron. A presence that seems just out of her reach.

Ahsoka takes a deep breath. "We can't see each other any more, Bait," she says softly. "It's too dangerous."

"What do you mean, Ahsoka? Nothing has ever been too dangerous for us. What is it? Let me help."

His words come pouring out in anger and fear. "Ahsoka, love, I swore an oath to you. That I would fight with you." His voice breaks. "We swore it together."

She looks down, the tears spilling on her cheeks. "I know. But there is something out there that I can't let you face. That if I am right, is mine to face alone."

His anger grows. "What the hell do you mean, goddammit? There is nothing in this universe that you need to face alone."

Her own anger explodes. "Could you just fucking listen to me, for once, Blackthorn? I have to face this alone. I don't need to have you getting in the way when I am probably facing the fight of my life."

Blackthorn's eyes are filled with shock. He plants his feet in the ground, and crosses his arms across his chest. Ahsoka mimics his stance, her blue eyes flashing at green. "Oh, so now you're saying that I am not good enough to fight with you? After all of these years fighting at each other's side?" He makes to walk towards her. She steps back, her blues eyes growing guarded.

Something that Ezra feels like she has never had to be with him.

Blackthorn looks at her. His voice takes on a formal tone. "Ahsoka Tano, I claim you as my hunt-sister in the traditions of my clan and yours. I will not fight your battles for you, as you are a skilled huntress and perfectly capable of fighting your own. But I will fight them with you."

For an instant, Ezra sees her resolve break. Of a look of....something else pushing through her anger and pain.

It is fleeting. "Ahsoka," he says softly, "this means that I would die for you. At worst, I would die with you. You can't renounce an oath that I have taken."

"No, Jame," she says with a rueful smile, "it does mean that I can refuse your help. That I can push you away."

He steps back in shock, as if she has struck him. His anger bubbles and bursts to the surface. "Never took you as someone who would run away," he says angrily. "Never in the years that I have known you have I ever had cause to think of you as a coward."

"What the hell do you mean, Blackthorn? How do you have the gall to call me a coward? I am trying to save your life. How does that make me a coward?"

"Because you are taking the easy way out. Pushing me away." His eyes pierce her. Every word he says pierces her. "It is hard being with someone. When the going gets a little tough, you push me away, so that you won't have to deal with me. That is the coward's way, rather than us facing whatever this big bad that you won't tell me about is together."

"You son of a bitch. Do you actually fucking listen to the bullshit that comes out of your mouth? I don't want you to die for me. I want you to live for me. I want to know that you are whole and safe and alive when I face this thing."

With that, whatever in her Force sense that was open to him slams shut. His anger grows around his vision. He throws up his hands as he turns on his heel and leaves.

Ezra is able to watch a bit longer. He sees Ahsoka's face crumple from its mask of anger as her tears flow freely. She fights them, but they come. She wipes them away with the heel of her palm.

When she looks up, Ezra sees the face that he has come to know in the last year. The serene, wise huntress. The one who he and the other Spectres could only see past occasionally when she would Smirk or smile slightly.

Another mask.

Before the mask falls, he hears several words. He smiles as he hears them. Words that he can tell are usually left unsaid between these two.

Ezra cannot stay for long as he is struck by a wave of pure pain and agony through his Force sense.

He comes back to himself in the cargo bay of the old shuttle. An incredibly warm feeling washes over him. He realizes that he is clinging to Blackthorn and the Zeltron woman, Dani is holding them both. Hera and Sabine are there as well.

The pain flows away easily, as the warmth and comfort fills him. He looks and sees Jame's face relax as Dani rocks him.

Jame looks up at him. He smiles slightly in understanding and nods at Ezra.

There is nothing more to be said.

As Dani and Sabine help the older man out of the shuttle, that part of Ezra's mind that he has walled off speaks to him. It speaks to him in an ancient voice with hissing inflection. Another voice is overlaid with it. A voice paired with yellow eyes.

"Never again will I or my family feel such pain and loss."

XXXXX

Ahsoka Tano tries to place the laughing, slightly accented voice. A voice accented a tiny bit like millions of her brothers.

_Got to be Mandalorian though. She remarked on my ass in the initial conversation._

_Great, Tano. You are having a conversation about your ass with a damned bird and a possible Mandalorian female ghost._

She cries out as memories - both hers and her hunt-brother's flood her mind. Her body seizes as the memories play across the screen of her mind. Of the joy on his familiar face as he feels the kicking of his unborn son. She hears the voice of her unknown wraith asking him what he wanted to name the boy. Of his rage as he sees J'ohlana's body lying on a metal deck, pierced by dozens of blaster shots.

Of the dead piled around her, as if in an offering.

"Why?" she screams. "Why can't I rest? I've done everything asked of me. I have fought. I have fought oh so hard. I have pushed everybody away."

"What more can I do?"

The bird stares implacably at her as she sobs. For the first time in years, her body is wracked by gulping sobs, as she tries to catch her breath.

The bird watches.

As she runs down, she hears a voice. A mixture of several voices. Including that laughing timbre of her hunt-brother's late wife. A childish voice, coming from an impression of curly hair and green eyes like his father's. A little boy named for a serene Togruta huntress. The deep voice that she has heard before in this between-world - the voice of her great-grand Master, Qui-gon Jinn.

Finally, a more familiar voice. The serene, slightly accented voice of that boy's namesake; her hunt-mother. Of Jame's beloved Master, Shaak Ti.

_Because, child. The Force is not yet done with you. You are a child of the Light. You are still needed._

"How? I am dead, or at least dying. I can't see shit beyond these damned shields. I can't even get up."

"Have you tried?" She starts in surprise as the words are spoken in one voice. A Corellian drawl as familiar to her as her own. As dear as any in the universe.

_Got me there, Bait._

The many-voices return. _You can get through these shields I erected to protect you from the Dark. It may take time. A long time, but there is plenty to learn while you are hidden and are trying._

_"Well, if it is going to take a long time, then what good am I? My Master......" _Anakin._ _

_There will always be battles, child. Your former Master will be someone else's. We would spare you that burden. Especially after you proved yourself willing to sacrifice yourself to try to bring him to the light._

Ahsoka's face looks up at the bird. She looks in vain for the source of the familiar voice. "But I want to fight alongside him. With...with my love."

_Why do you think that we let you sense him, child? You will need someone to focus on to get you through these shields._

The voice softens again. "But you have to want to live, _cyar'ika,_ " the warm voice says.

"Jame, I am so sorry...."

"Hush, Ahsoka. I know." She can sense the warm, crooked smile. "Someone helped me hear what you said after I walked away." She can feel the intense gaze of his green eyes. "I love you too."

Her smile grows as she hears his next words. "Time to get up, Runt. You're burning daylight."

His voice takes on that younger cadence of her clan-master; one step away from turning her mattress and her onto the floor as the morning sun plays over the Temple clan-room.

__Ahsoka Tano rises from the cold stone floor of a forgotten Temple of darkness, on a cursed world. A beacon of light swaying as her legs become used to working again._ _

__XXXXX_ _

__Dani Faygan sits against the headboard of a bed on an old frigate. A frigate filled with ghosts and memories. Her heart-bond sits next to her, humming an old lullaby._ _

__Dani holds the head of a hunter, of a warrior in her lap. She gently strokes his gray hair._ _

__His face is calm. She is startled as a broad smile breaks across his sleeping features._ _

__She and Lassa look at one another. Their own smiles flow across their features. Lassa takes Dani's hand in her and brings it up to her lips._ _

_Life._


	10. Epilogue- The Turning of the Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the end of the story.

A small green and white bird watches a warrior choose between life and death. The bird chirrups softly as she sees the struggle on the warrior's beautiful face. Of the calmness that flows over those features as she makes her choice. 

A choice that will be more difficult for her than the alternative. An alternative that will devastate those who she would leave behind.

Even the difficult choice will take time. Time that her loved ones may not have as they continue to battle for the Light. Against the overwhelming darkness in the galaxy.

The chirrups from the convor increase in volume as she she sees the warrior rise. As the gold light surrounds her and protects her from prying Force senses.

The light allows a tiny opening for a specific Force sense. For when it does work and reaches out for the powerful huntress.

The avatar waits as the child of the Light makes her choice.

XXXXX

Daaineran Faygan sits in the pilot's chair of an old and beloved ship. A ship that bears so many memories from her past, as well as the man who is struggling to see what his future will be.

A possibility of a future of emptiness and loss. Yet again.

She shakes her head as she prepares the ship for flight. She notices the young woman sitting next to her looking at her.

Those gray eyes, so full of love and understanding. Those gray eyes so much like those of the man whose past was built around this ship and tied to her life. She starts as she sees flashes around the edges of her vision. Of ghosts from this ship and their shared pasts.

She smiles at what she does not see. She does not see a flash of blue and white lekku and depthless blue eyes. Only the flash of a deeper red skin and serene violet eyes.

Violet eyes that she will remember when she is taking her last breath; as well as bronze ones. She glances over at the CR-90. She doesn't see those bronze eyes, but she knows that they are there.

Her daughter touches her hand. She speaks in the language of Dani's birth, the sibilants flowing off her tongue with ease. "Are you well, my mother-of-the-heart?" Jamelyn asks formally.

"I am, my daughter," she answers in the same form.

The girl switches to Basic. "You're thinking about Uncle Jame aren't you? And his huntress?"

"Yes, I am, sweetie."

"Will he be alright? I am worried for him. Especially what he said about Ahsoka not being gone."

Dani smiles. "Don't worry about him, Jamelyn. He has seen his huntress come back from the dead before. Jumping into his life when he least expects it to punch him the face."

Jamelyn smirks at that image. She nods. "Will he punch her, as well?" the Elector asks. "That's how the story goes, isn't it?"

"Yep," the Zeltron says. "Then they'll pick each other up and laugh until they are out of breath." Her eyes flash with something else as she remembers. "They will then fall into each other's light and join until their eyes cross."

The young woman blushes as she considers Dani's bluntness. She knows what that particular verb means for a hunter and huntress of Shili.

But, she smiles and nods. "I hope so, _Buir._ "

Another young woman watches and listens to the exchange from behind them, as she stands at the navigational readouts. Talle Tredecima's heart rises a bit listening to them, as she thinks of her family. Her family here and far away. She smiles as she thinks of Blackthorn and Ahsoka.

She turns behind her and looks at the large man leaning against the plotting table, his eyes seemingly on weapons status screens. She smiles as she sees him looking out at the port.

At the man who has been his brother for nearly two decades, as he says goodbye to the little family on this world. He turns and sees her looking at him. 

She sees his right hand flipping a small object over his fingers. A datachip handed to him by that brother. A datachip that may change he and his daughter's future. For the better.

Or at least bring them closure.

His amber eyes smile as they look into her own. He nods at his daughter.

XXXXX

The man once known as Taliesin Croft stands prepared to leave the little rock. He takes Kanan's hand in his. "Heal fast, Knight Jarrus. The Rebellion needs you. I don't often spout Force platitudes; I didn't even when I had a Padawan, but let the Force be your guide. I am sure that you will see again - just maybe not in the way that you are accustomed to."

"Goodbye, Jame. I hope that you find peace. And if you are right about Ahsoka, I hope that you find each other again."

"I think that we will, someday, Kanan. I have to have faith. Even if that annoying little blue and orange light that snarks at me from time to time is only in my head, I take comfort in being able to listen to it."

Kanan nods. "Take care of yourself, Taliesin Croft. May the Force be with you."

The older man smiles. "May the Force be with you, Caleb Dume," he says quietly. Kanan nods and walks away, his hand on Chopper's dome.

Rex walks up with Ezra. Hera and Sabine follow carefully.

Blackthorn ignores the Padawan. He turns to Sabine. "Take care of yourself, _ad'ika_. He surrounds her in his arms. 

Hera stands in front of Blackthorn. He looks at her over Sabine's shoulder. "You're a helluva leader, Captain Syndulla. A credit to your squadron and to your family."

For the first time since he has met her, he senses her uncertainty. He pulls her into the embrace with Sabine.

"What will you do, Commodore?" Hera asks. She touches the rank plaque on the chest of the familiar leather jacket. A rank plaque with four blue circular pips. "I guess that you will add one and they will all turn red soon." Blackthorn says nothing in response; his eyes guarded. "Sato told me that they were offering you command of the three or four cells in this region. As a General, again. An attempt to start consolidation." She smiles. "Including this one."

He looks down. "I don't know, Hera. Right now I am seriously considering asking to be relieved."

Both Sabine and Hera's eyes widen. They start to shake their heads. He takes a deep breath and plows ahead. "I know that I have to go on. I have lost before." He looks at the horizon; at the birds circling in the distance. "I even lost her for awhile. I have always picked myself up, somehow, with an asskicking from my friends and my family."

"But I don't know about this time." He shakes his head. "My Mandos that hypothetically went to Malachor reported back in. They can't even get a fix on the planet to actually land safely. They can't explain it." Sabine reaches up and wipes the tears beginning in his eyes. He shakes his head. "I have my suspicions as to what it means, but not enough to ask anyone to charge in there with me to confirm them." For just a moment, he leans his cheek into his niece's palm. For an instant, he is across the years and parsecs. _No, my love. I will find you. I swear on that oath that we took to each other,_ a bright presence says in his mind. 

He focuses back on another beloved face, as well as one his inherent respect has grown for in the short time he has known her. "I don't think that my self-pity will last for long. She means too much to me to give up. She always kept fighting." He grins. "She would expect me to keep fighting."

He kisses Sabine gently on her forehead. "I may have finally grown up enough to not wallow in this self-pity and angst. Those who are marching far away for me," Sabine nods at the Mando phrase; "serve more than just as instruments to cause me pain. They had lives. Rich, vibrant ones - all of them. They each taught me something. They each touched my life in some way."

He senses the blue-orange light in his head smiling.

"I owe it to them to keep fighting and to keep their memories warm." The grin returns. "That isn't to say that I need to be the General anymore. One of the things that you may have picked up on, is that Ahsoka absolutely detested being called 'General' or 'Commander.' She had made a vow to herself, when she was still a teenager and first going to work for Bail that she didn't want to have to send people to their deaths anymore."

Hera and Sabine nods. "It may be that it is my destiny just to be a footsoldier or a pilot; a grunt with no rank; to serve my part."

He senses a snicker in his mind. _Yeah, right. That would actually require humility, Bait. Something you ain't exactly breaking out with._

For the thousandth time since he woke up after the trip to Garel, he questions his sanity. _Is it really her?_ Another huntress' voice, this time from his past cuts through time and memory. _Search your feelings, Tal. They've served you well. Always._

Hera smiles at him, not knowing of his internal struggles. She voices what someone else was thinking, albeit with much less snark. "Don't think that you are cut out to be a grunt, Jame. The Rebellion needs you to be a General, not just an unofficial leader."

He looks at them both. "I do have to follow up with the information that Ahsoka gave me. I owe it to her and to my other loved ones." 

He look over between the two ships as a bronze-eyed pirate and a crimson-skinned empath meet in the middle. The thunderous looks on their faces make Hera and Sabine start. Jame holds them tighter. Instead of drawing weapons, the two fall into each other's arms. Their lips lock as their eyes close. The taller Pantoran lifts the Zeltron off of her feet and swings her around.

Both Hera and Sabine can feel Jame's heart beat faster as he looks at them. "I may let Dani and Lassa take care of it. Don't know if they need me sticking my nose in it." He smiles. "I'll trust those two not to let the father and daughter of disaster and chaos go off half-cocked on some damn fool quest."

Sabine laughs. "Not like you, Uncle. Or Ahsoka." She grows serious as she looks into his eyes.

"Where will you go, _Ba'vodu_? Sabine asks. 

He looks at the horizon again. "There is a cave on Shili, not far from where she took her teeth. Where we took the oaths of hunt-brother and hunt-sister. We claimed it as our own. It was our intention that six months after the Emperor fell, we would settle a bet on Coruscant that was made a decade ago. Five minutes after that, we would've been on our way to that cave where we would live, but we would never leave it alive. The galaxy would get by without us. May go there for awhile, to make sure it is ready for us."

His phrasing is not lost on them.

"After that, who knows? We have a dear friend who has returned to her homeworld of Naboo. She is working behind the scenes with a couple of former Queens to see about relieving the oppression there. May go lend a hand, if they want it."

Hera smiles. "I think anyone would want you to fight with them, Jame Blackthorn."

He pulls them tighter into his embrace. Hera kisses him on the cheek. He whispers into her earcone, loud enough for Sabine to hear as well. "Take care of your family, my Ghosts. Remember what my huntress gave both of you. Cherish it."

Both women fight back tears as they break away. They take deep breaths as they see Ezra standing there. Waiting.

Blackthorn turns to Ezra. His eyes cut through him. Ezra's eyes tear, but he meets his gaze.

"Take a look at my face, boy. Take a look at Rex's," Blackthorn says. "Think about what you saw in my mind. Every time you get the urge to do something stupid, or something against what your Master or other officer says, you remember our faces. You remember the pain. The emptiness. The loss. You remember."

He takes a deep breath. He looks at Rex for a brief second. The old man smiles and nods. "Captain Syndulla says that I should forgive you. That you're just a boy. That you will learn from your mistakes. Well, I am the direct cost of your learning from your mistakes. Mistakes that if you had listened and thought might not have happened." He looks down, he steadies himself. His green gaze bores into Ezra. "Your friends may forgive you. My niece may forgive you. Rex may even forgive you. But I don't know that I can. What you took from me...."

He stops. "My pain is that while I can't bring myself to forgive you." His eyes well as they close. "I know that she would," he whispers fiercely.

He shakes his head. The quiet fire of his gaze returns to Ezra. "That is my ultimate burden to live with, Ezra. And yours."

He softens. "Have Rex tell you about Ahsoka at Ryloth, Ezra. About her mistake that cost men their lives. You saw what she grew into. She made other mistakes." He smiles crookedly. "The biggest one may be standing right in front of you." Ezra smiles carefully.

"It will take awhile, Ezra. For the next several months, you will probably feel such intense guilt. Even if you know that you are. Even with me telling you." He looks skyward. "It will pass. Learn from it, but don't let it consume you."

"My hunt-sister - the light of my universe would never want that."

His eyes bore into Ezra's blue ones again. "And cut your goddamned hair. You're not in a boy-band."

A tiny hint of wistful smile plays across his face as he says it. For an instant, Ezra's jumbled mind's eye sees a younger version of the man standing in front of him. A senior Padawan with a mass of Wookiee-like hair and beard; the Padawan braid almost lost.

A Togruta youngling standing next to him with an insolent Smirk on her face as she listens intently to what he says. An expression that he had only seen occasionally on the older version of that beloved face.

The same green eyes of that Padawan looking back at her with humor and warmth.

The pain not yet found in that gaze.

Jamelyn walks up to them and hands Blackthorn a leather box. Without a word, he hands it to the Padawan.

Jamelyn nods at Ezra. He smiles, much as he has seen a certain Corellian smile at a huntress in his Force sense.

Rex laughs at the expression on the same Corellian's older face. "Don't even think about it, pup," her uncle says darkly, "get whatever you see in your head, out of there. I can do terrible things with my mind."

The boy smirks. "Yeah, on the off-chance that it actually works, old man."

The bright laughter bubbles up in his head.

 _Don't you need sleep or something, Runt?_ he thinks. _So that I can actually feel like my sanity is not slipping?_

Jamelyn giggles at her uncle's expression. He jerks his head at the ship to her. She giggles again and kisses him on his cheek as she walks to board the old frigate.

Blackthorn nods at the boy and turns. Rex brings his hand to his brow. Blackthorn returns the gesture. He moves closer and grasps the back of Rex's head. They touch foreheads, as if they were wearing buckets. As if from their youth.

Ezra watches him as he walks up the ramp as it is being retracted. He senses the others leave his side.

He carefully opens the box. Resting in the velvet lining is a well-worn blaster. A Blastech DL-44. The symbol of one of the complex man's heritages. He lifts it out and hefts it. Heavy, but manageable. 

He stands alone as he watches the ships rise. As they shrink to dots in Atollon's atmo, his eye is caught by a small bird.

A small bird that he had last seen circling as a powerful warrior looked down at him and admitted that she was not sure that she understood the Force all of the time.

He smiles as he thinks of Blackthorn and his words. His smile fades as he sees a pair of yellow eyes in his mind. Yellow eyes that he had kept hidden from Blackthorn when they had linked. Along with a rasping, sensuous voice.

His own reverberates in his mind, once again. _My friends will never hurt like that again._

XXXXX

A powerful huntress rests on her knees deep in a Temple on a malevolent world. Her eyes are closed as she struggles to heal in body and soul.

As she struggles to forget the glimpse of a baleful yellow eye staring at her from a dark, broken mask. As she struggles to forget the hint of a familiar voice.

A cherished voice who had taught her so many things; who had helped shape her. A voice threatening to end her.

She shifts slightly as the pain recedes. As she heals. 

As she releases herself from a vow made to the man who no longer was. A man who would want her to save herself to help others. To find her family and to cherish them. 

As she does, she sees a brief glimpse of......something? A future? As another surrounds him with light, welcoming her Master back from the darkness. Another with similar features to that teacher and brother. Features and aspects of two people who had shaped her.

A light that she had perhaps, in a small way, initiated, with his brief recognition.

Time has no meaning for her as she opens herself deeper to the mystical field that has been her birthright. A mystical field that holds so many mysteries for her.

Mysteries that are now falling away, as she glimpses a powerful green and gold form, a form that takes shape as a beautiful woman watching her from the center of a blinding light. Smiling at her as her energy flows around the huntress.

Her heart leaps with unaccountable warmth as she senses another light - a different green and gold light, suffused with flashes of purple.

The colors of an ancient family, representing faith, power, and justice. The avatar of another beloved face.

She smiles as she remembers. The smile morphs into her patented Smirk as she remembers certain other warmths.

She reaches out to both of the lights. Her voice surprises her. The familiar trills of words from her birth-language cut through the heavy atmosphere. A name, for one of those lights, as well as the emotion associated with him. An entreaty, as well. The words warm her, as much as the lights do. The meaning is clear.

_Baa'je._

_Wait for me._

_My beloved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the end of the story, but the end of this series. Going back to the Clone Wars and then back to show more of how they got here. Thank you to all who have followed.
> 
> Who, knows? Someday there may be more Ghosts stories in me.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahsoka lives. That is all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Idea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10115711) by [B_Radley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley)
  * [Gifts Over the Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12302505) by [B_Radley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley)




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